An Immodest Proposal
by LucyQT
Summary: After Mr. Bennet's untimely death and the cruel and unhappy marriages of Mrs. Bennet and Jane, Elizabeth is determined that wedding bells will never be her fate. So when Mr. Darcy makes an offer of marriage, she responds with an offer of her own - to be his mistress, but not his wife. Angst, HEA, some explicit content. NOT ABANDONED, JUST WORKING ON OTHER STUFF FOR A BIT.
1. Chapter 1 - The Proposal

_**Author's Note:** This story began with a question posed by JAFF reader and writer JRTT: Can a Darcy and Elizabeth mistress scenario be resolved happily? My initial stance was that it could not be, because the nature of the relationship was premised on a fundamental lack of respect of Darcy for Elizabeth. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is viewing the range of human experience and relationships far too narrowly. _

_The D &E I have attempted to portray are not intended to be ideal or wicked, but rather human and limited, the product of their time, their experiences and their own idiosyncrasies. Although the situation is greatly altered from P&P by Mr. Bennet's early death, I have attempted to keep them - and all other characters - canon-compliant according to my interpretation of P&P and how they might behave in a different environment. _

_This story also attempts to faithfully portray the social and legal realities of women's lives in the early 19th Century. I have drawn on historical events and people, gleaned from a wide variety of primary and secondary sources. At times you will see historical notes under the chapter. They are there to provide background, but are not necessary to the story and can be ignored if you find them distracting._

 _The story is rated M as it deals with sensitive themes and contains some explicit scenes. Nevertheless, I didn't set out to write a sexy story, so if that's what you're looking for, you may be disappointed._

 _The angst rating on this story is medium, though some readers for its original posting at A Happy Assembly insisted that it was really high/nuclear angst. Either way, the posting is now past the major angst. On that note, this story was first posted at AHA, but not completed there. I intend to complete it here, with major and minor differences to the ending I had sketched out there before I left._

 _I have no posting schedule, I post when I have a chance to write and my beta/cold readers have had their say._

 _All comments are welcome, up to and including flaming, as I do not believe my ability to express myself requires the suppression of yours. If you want a reply, however, please PM me, as I have limited ability to respond in the FFN format, especially to "guests."_

 _Finally, thanks to JRTT for beta'ing and inspiring this story, and for always challenging fanon orthodoxy. I could not have done it without her. Also, a special dedication to JanetR, who first showed me how hilarious and brilliant P &P fanfiction could be._

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1 - THE PROPOSAL**

Lizzy Bennet, age 10, stared up in awe at the tiers of the Royal Theatre. She had never seen such a spectacle. The men were terribly handsome, the women positively glittering.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, followed by an eruption of whispering, pointing and catcalls. Lizzy turned her head to where the crowd's attention was directed. A beautifully dressed young lady had entered a well-lit box near the stage. She was accompanied by a number of well-dressed and clearly wealthy men who paid her the greatest deference.

"That's Miss Wilson … "

"Scandalous … "

"1,300, _I_ heard _and_ her own apartment in Marylebone… "

"Oh yes, head over heels, my dear. He _must_ be…"

"Who is that?" asked Lizzy of her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner.

"It is nobody, my dear. Do not look, I pray," said Mrs. Gardiner.

"Why ever not? She is a very pretty woman."

"She is not a proper lady, Lizzy," said Mr. Gardiner. "You must keep your eyes to the stage."

But she could not. The whispering around her had grown intense and the actors' voices could not be heard over it.

"Should not be allowed…"

"Look at them, all their tongues hanging out! Improper, _I_ say … "

"I dunno … seems to have more fun than them wives over there. Look at them, ever so green …"

"That's the Duke of – and the Earl of - . Lords of the land, they say. Who's lording it now? She's got them good and proper … "

Lizzy's head whirled.

* * *

 _Approximately ten years later_

"… and I beg you, most fervently, to relieve my suffering and consent to be my wife."

Elizabeth stared, coloured, doubted and was silent, the wheels in her head turning. Mr. Darcy loved her! All of this time she had assumed he hated her! And yet here he was, his agitation extreme, his eyes tormented. Was this it? Her chance to escape from her dreary life, the conventions and strictures of respectable society? The chance to take control of her own destiny? She did not like the man, nay, but she did not need to like him for what she intended to do. In fact, it helped that she did not like him. And, of course, he was very handsome. It would be easy …

She opened her mouth - hesitated. She saw Darcy's quick intake of breath, the desire in his eyes. Oh yes, she could do this. She had to do this. Another such opening might never come her way.

"Mr. Darcy, I will not consent to be your wife. But I would be prepared to be your mistress, if you will give me the terms I seek. "

"What?"

"I said, I would be prepared to be your mistress."

"My _mistress_? But you do not understand … I am offering you a place as my wife."

"Yes," said Elizabeth patiently. "But I am not interested in that. I would prefer to be your mistress. It would give me greater freedom and independence to lead the life I wish to lead."

"But … but … you would be Mrs. Darcy. You would have standing and influence as the mistress of Pemberley. It is my estate in Derbyshire, a very great estate in Derbyshire."

"Yes, I know all of that. I have heard about Pemberley, Mr. Darcy. But I would prefer a life in Town. And I do not wish for a husband to tell me what to do, who I may be friends with and when I may see my family."

"But that is the proper role of a husband."

"Precisely. And that is why I do not wish for one."

Darcy was silent, stunned.

"Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy absently sat down in a chair across from her, a confused look on his face.

"Mr. Darcy?"

"I am sorry," he said. "I never envisioned you would have such a response. I need a moment to collect my wits."

"Of course."

"It is just … it is just that I have never had a mistress. It is not something I ever considered. I am not saying it is something I _would_ never consider. It is only that I assumed that when I found a lady whom I could love, she would wish to be my wife."

"Perhaps another lady would have. You certainly owe _me_ no obligation. I encourage you to seek the hand of another lady if that is your desire."

"That is the problem, you see. I do not wish for another lady. I only want _you_."

"In that case, you know my terms."

He glanced at her quickly. "Actually, I do not know your terms. Can you tell them to me? How is this usually done? Are there not usually intermediaries?"

"I do not know. I have never done this before either. Since we are both here, I suppose we may as well speak frankly."

"Very well. Please proceed."

"Thank you. My terms are this: I would need two thousand pounds on entry into the relationship, a apartment in Town and carriage purchased in my name. After that, a thousand pounds a year and all my expenses paid. You may terminate at any time on payment of an additional two thousand pounds. Also, if we have children, provision must be made for each child."

"That seems rather high."

"I realize this, but you must realize that I am a gently bred, reasonably well-educated woman from the same or similar sphere as you. I am taking a great risk here, so I will need to be rewarded."

"I would need complete fidelity."

"Of course. Terminable by you without severance upon proof of my infidelity."

He considered. "I will need to think about this. Again, I did not come here today seeking a mistress."

Elizabeth gave him a glimmer of a smile. "No, but apparently she seeks you."

"Elizabeth – may I call you Elizabeth?" She nodded her assent. "Elizabeth, I love you. I would have made you my wife if you agreed."

His words smote her. He was sincere, she could see it in his eyes. How could she have misjudged him so badly as to think he disliked her? She wondered what else she might be mistaken about.

He continued. "What happens … what happens if you tire of _me_? Can you leave me?"

"Yes, if I tire of you, then I may end the relationship at any time, without payment of severance by you."

He was quiet, thinking it over. "I do not like the sound of that."

"Why not? It is fair. You will be none the loser."

"But … but what if I pay you to enter into the relationship and then you decide after a few days that you do not wish to continue?"

Elizabeth pondered this. "Yes, that is unfair. I suppose I could guarantee you a minimum amount of time. Say … three months?"

"Three months! No, I cannot do that."

"Six months?"

"One year."

"Six months, take it or leave it."

Six months would give her twenty-five hundred pounds and an apartment and carriage. It was enough to live on, if she sold out and moved to the country. And chances were, he would tire of her first and she would receive at least four thousand pounds. But if it worked out, she would accumulate a tidy sum.

"So long as you treat me with kindness and consideration, I would have no incentive to leave you," she added.

 _Unless it was for a man with more money_ , he thought glumly.

"Those are my terms. Take it or leave it."

He gave her another quick, furtive look.

"If I take it, what happens next?"

"I suppose we both retain an attorney to effect the arrangement."

"And then?"

"Once that is done, I will come to you. Not immediately, I will need some time to arrange things, say good-bye to my family. They will be upset at me, at least for the first while. But perhaps in two weeks?"

Two weeks! He could have his solicitors act quickly. She could be his in less than three weeks. Suddenly, his imagination overtook him. Elizabeth, his. Visiting her in her apartment in Town. Spending the whole day with her, and nights … He forced his thoughts back to more decorous paths. He could take her out to dine and other men would see her and envy him. Wait, other, _richer_ men, _titled_ men would see her, would think they could steal her away for the right price. The bile rose in his throat at the idea.

"I will need to think about it," he said abruptly.

"Of course, Mr. Darcy. Think on it and let me know your answer."

He picked up his hat and gloves and cane, bowed and left her.

* * *

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	2. Chapter 2 - The Response

**CHAPTER 2 - THE RESPONSE**

Darcy strode into the sitting room of the gentlemen's guest quarters at Rosings Park, went directly to the sideboard to pour himself a stiff drink and threw it down. He then proceeded to pour himself another.

"Trouble, cousin?" inquired Colonel Fitzwilliam, looking up from the billiard table where he had his shot nicely lined up.

Darcy only shook his head, downing the second drink as if it was nothing more than a tumbler of punch, his eyes closed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyebrows rose as his cousin poured a third helping. He put up his billiards cue and took the bottle of whiskey from Darcy.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" he inquired.

"No."

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who knew his cousin well, merely sat himself down on the lounger and waited, though he kept the whiskey by his side. After a few minutes, Darcy walked over to the billiards table and leant against it, still holding his half-empty third glass.

"I asked her."

"And she said ... ?"

"She said no to my offer."

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded in sympathy but continued to scrutinize his cousin curiously. He exhibited none of the dejection of a man refused. Instead, he appeared agitated, disturbed and excited.

"And ...?" he prompted.

A wry smile lifted the corner of Darcy's mouth. "She offered to be my mistress instead,"

Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyebrows leapt upward, but he only chuckled. "Original."

"What should I do?"

"You are asking for my advice? Singular."

"Well," Darcy spluttered as the colour rose in his face. "You have more experience in such matters than I."

"True. In that case, accept her offer."

Darcy was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Just like that?"

"Assuming you can afford it. How much does she ask?"

Darcy told him. Colonel Fitzwilliam whistled. "Miss Bennet does not sell herself cheaply."

"I would have made her Mistress of Pemberley."

"True. You should never have told her that. Now she knows you are the weaker party in the negotiations."

"I was not attempting to negotiate!"

"It is too late to take it back," Fitzwilliam mused as if Darcy had not spoken. "Yes ... you will have to pay her price. I know you cannot afford such a sum every year, but think of it as a lifetime opportunity! Six months of bliss and a lifetime of memories and then you can marry an heiress and settle down."

Darcy took a swallow of whiskey. "What if I want more than six months?"

His cousin shrugged. "Then you continue it. It is only the first year that is truly dear."

Truthfully, he doubted Darcy would wish to continue it. He had never _not_ wanted to move on after six months. Usually he was happy to move on after two months. But then a man's first mistress always occupied a special place in his heart.

"That is the problem. I do not know if she would wish to. Else why would she not accept my offer?"

Hm." Colonel Fitzwilliam tapped his teeth. "That is a good point. Why did she not accept your offer?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. Is there any reason you know of that she would dislike me?"

"Not at all. I did just as you asked me. I told her all about your good qualities, how you take prodigious care of the ones you love."

Darcy drained his glass and shook his head in frustration. Colonel Fitzwilliam rose, poured himself a glass and re-filled Darcy's.

"Women!" he exclaimed and drank.

"Women," echoed Darcy gloomily.

"Look here," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "You cannot accept this. A respectable gentleman of good fortune and noble connexions offers honourable marriage to the daughter of a tradesman, only to have her throw it in his face? It is outrageous is what it is!"

"You are right. I will tell her that she is beneath me and I want nothing to do with her." At these words, Darcy felt a pain in his chest as if his heart was being rent in two. But what choice did he have? She did not love him.

"No, you must not do that! You must accept!"

"Accept? But you just said - "

"I said you cannot stand for it! You must get your revenge. On behalf of all of our sex!"

Darcy scowled. "And how am I to do that?"

"You must make her fall in love with you, of course. Shower her with affection and presents. Kill her with consideration. Woo her as if she was a sole heiress with a sick father. At the end of six months she will be so besotted with you, she will not be able to keep her hands off you!"

"Do you think so?" Darcy asked with a little smile. He imagined Elizabeth Bennet besotted with him. He could not imagine her hanging all over him as other women did. More likely she would be even more teasing than ever, the little minx. He had to admit it was an appealing prospect.

"I know so! I have seen it happen dozens of times. Then at the end of six months -"

"Yes?" asked Darcy, trying to hide his eagerness.

"You cast her out! Throw her into the street!"

"What?"

"Yes," said Colonel Fitzwilliam with satisfaction. "That is how it is done. So now you must go to Town tomorrow and get the document drafted. I will give you a letter of introduction to my own solicitor, he is excellent in these matters - not like yours, who knows only about leases and indentures and deeds and trusts and other matters of no consequence."

"But - " Darcy said.

"No buts! She has you all tied up in knots, does she not?"

"Yes." Yes, she certainly _had_.

"You do not want her waltzing out of your life now as if was nothing, do you?"

"No." No, he certainly did not.

"You would like to see her in love with you, would you not?"

"Yes." Yes, he certainly _would_.

"Well then, your choice is clear!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam beamed at Darcy and poured himself a second glass and Darcy his fifth. He lifted his glass and looked at Darcy expectantly. For a moment, Darcy only looked thoughtful. At his cousin's pointed look at his glass, however, he slowly raised it and they drank to it.

* * *

Elizabeth did not see Darcy the next day, nor the next, nor any time that week. Not that she was surprised. He had been _so_ surprised at her immodest proposal. The look on his face! It had been everything she could do to keep from laughing.

Rambling in Rosings Park by herself the next week, she speculated that he had probably fled the vicinity to escape her pollution and she would never see him again. Which was just as effective a method as any other to rid oneself of an unwanted suitor! Perhaps she should write a treatise advising other young ladies of this fact and publish it anonymously.

Elizabeth was so absorbed in these amusing thoughts as she jogged down the lane that she almost ran into Mr. Darcy when he stepped out from behind a tree.

"Oh!"

"Miss Bennet," he bowed. "I have been walking in the grove some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading these documents?"

She took the package he was holding out and looked at him curiously.

"It concerns your offer," he said stiffly. "If you would be so good to read it now, I will walk around the grove and return for your answer." He then suited his words to his purpose.

Elizabeth sat down on a conveniently placed rock and broke open the seal. The packet contained a formal offer, apparently drawn up by an attorney, setting out the terms that they had discussed the previous week. The only material difference was that he offered her _three_ thousand pounds to enter into a relationship of companionship for the first six months, followed by the requested one thousand pounds per annum and all of her reasonable expenses paid. It was a clear gain to her of five hundred pounds. And, he had made a detailed "provision" for dealing with potential children: Their care would be relinquished to him and he would undertake to ensure that each was educated and fitted up to a respectable profession. He would also provide her with ongoing assistance through the period of her confinement.

"This is very generous of you, Mr. Darcy," she commented when he returned. She could not hide that she was surprised. She had expected that, conceited as he was, he would attempt to low-ball her and disclaim any responsibility once he was done with her, not volunteer to take on the care of potential children.

"Do we have a deal, then?" His voice was coolly indifferent as he leant against a tree, the brim of his hat shading his eyes so she could not read them.

She gave him a sunny smile. "We do indeed! Although I will need to have my own attorney review the documents to ensure there is nothing I have missed. But I do not foresee an issue. I shall be able to do it when I pass through London and leave the packet for you to pick up in Town."

She rose from the rock she was sitting on and he stepped away from the tree towards her, barring her way.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?" she inquired in surprise.

"I believe it is customary in such arrangements to seal the bargain with a kiss."

"Oh!" She stepped back. "Well, I ... I did not realize ..."

She had never kissed a man before. Not that she foresaw any difficulty with the act, as it seemed straightforward enough and she was not an ignorant child. But she had not expected to do it _today_. She was not prepared for such a thing!

She drew herself up with dignity. "I have not yet finalized the arrangement as I still wish to have my solicitor review it, as I said. But be assured that I shall meet all of my obligations when the time comes."

Darcy's eyebrow twitched and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. He inclined his head in acquiescence. "Of course, Miss Bennet. I will look forward to it."

He stepped out of her way and gestured for her to proceed, which she did, walking ahead of him with her head high. She could hear him following her at a leisurely pace and was glad that he could not see her burning cheeks.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. Mistress contracts in this time were called cohabitation agreements. They were void on the grounds of immorality in the sense that no court in the land would compel a woman to perform her side of the bargain and have sex in exchange for money. However, courts were sympathetic to the needs of women to have some means of financial support. As a result, where a man made a promise to pay in exchange for cohabitation and the woman performed her side of the bargain, the courts would often tie themselves in legal knots in order to enforce the promise.

2\. The law of equity governed such promises to pay. A core principle of the court of equity was that it would not aid in immorality or wrongdoing:"He who comes into equity must come with clean hands." In the case of _Knye v Moore_ , this meant a bond given by a married man to a woman with whom he had an affair after the affair was ended was deemed to be good. This is because while it was immoral consideration to promise sex for money, it was moral to promise money to _stop_ having sex.

3\. In _Benyon v Nettlefold_ , a man covenanted to pay an annuity to trustees for the benefit of a lady. The annuity fell into arrears (ie he failed to make all the payment) and one of the trustees sued for the arrears. The man argued he shouldn't have to pay because the deed of promise was in exchange for an immoral cohabitation. In order to make his case, he had to get the evidence and sought a court order allowing the lady to be questioned about their illicit relationship. The Court refused to grant such an order on the grounds that he had not come with clean hands. The consequence was that as he had no evidence to challenge the deed of promise, it was deemed good and he had to make up the arrears of the annuity.

4\. In a different case, _Sismey v Eley_ , another man sought to be relieved of his covenant to pay an annuity for an immoral cohabitation. In that case, the Court granted his application on the grounds that the immoral cohabitation had never taken place and the man still had clean hands. These and other cases on mistress contracts can be found at _Chitty's index to All the Reported Cases_ , 1885, pp 1787-1789, which is available online (if I could figure out how to hot link, I would give you the link).

5\. Although the amounts sought and offered in this scenario sound high, they are actually right in line with the mistress pensions of £100 to £300 a year discussed in the case law. At the going rate of government bonds and other fixed-income funds of 3% to 5% at this time, this would require capital of between £2,000 to £10,000 to generate.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	3. Chapter 3 - Family Ties

**CHAPTER 3 - FAMILY TIES**

The Gardiner carriage stopped before the stately Mayfair residence of Sir Henry and Lady Blemmell and Elizabeth stepped out. Knocking on the door, she was admitted directly by the butler and shown up to Lady Blemmell's boudoir on the first storey.

At the sight of her, the footman standing in the hall stepped forward to knock and, at Lady Blemmell's gentle invitation, opened the door with a bow.

"Jane!" Elizabeth cried, rushing forward.

"Elizabeth!" Jane dropped her embroidery and rose to embrace her sister.

Elizabeth frowned. Her sister looked peaked and it seemed to Elizabeth that she had winced a little in the embrace.

"Did he hurt you again?" Elizabeth whispered fiercely, glancing over her shoulder at the door, which Sir Henry insisted must always remain ajar, with a footman posted beside it.

"No … no, Lizzy. I am well."

"Jane, tell me the truth," said Elizabeth sternly, though still in the same low tone. "I am your sister. We have never had concealments from each other."

Jane looked up and her eyes were full of shame. "It was my fault, Lizzy. I had dropped the teapot at breakfast and the tea had spilled all over Sir Henry's letters. There were several important ones he had been expecting."

"That is _not_ an excuse for what he does," Elizabeth flared.

Jane only shook her head and changed the subject, saying in a louder voice, "How was your visit to Kent? How is your dear old friend Charlotte?"

Jane had not seen Charlotte in five years, not since she had married at age sixteen to Sir Henry, thirty-three years her senior, and gone to live with him. That had been an eventful year in their lives. Mr. Bennet had died and Mrs. Bennet had remarried to a prosperous wine merchant who lived in the area, a Mr. Sandys.

"Charlotte is well, quite astonished still at her good fortune in catching Mr. Collins of both Longbourn and Hunsford Parsonage," Elizabeth observed wryly. "As for my visit? It was … eventful. I have much to tell you."

"About Hunsford Parsonage?" Jane widened her eyes and smiled with a ghost of her former sparkle. "Did you not write me that spending four weeks in the company of Mr. Collins and his equally silly curate would mean the graveyard for all your hopes of sense and sensibility?"

"Oh! Well, Charlotte and I amused ourselves at coming up with new ways for her to bow and scrape to Mr. Collins and his patron, Lady Catherine. But it was not just that," said Elizabeth. "I received a surprise offer of marriage."

"Oh!" said Jane. "From whom?"

"Mr. Darcy."

"And … and … what did you say?" Jane looked at her sister with trepidation.

"Do not worry, my dear sister. I did not accept his proposal."

Jane looked relieved. "Thank heaven. I know how much you dislike him, and from your letters, he certainly does not sound like a good man." She looked nervous again. "Does Mr. Sandys know?"

Mr. Sandys's strictness as a father was matched only by his greed and ambition. If he knew that Elizabeth had received an offer of marriage from a wealthy man, both sisters knew that he would bring considerable pressure to bear to make her accept.

Elizabeth shook her head vigorously at Jane's question. "I do not think so. Mr. Darcy made no mention of speaking to Mr. Sandys. In any case, it does not matter." She took a deep breath and said, dropping her voice again, "Jane, dearest Jane. I am going to do something very wicked."

Jane smiled wryly. "Are you, my dear? Is it more wicked than mixing the spoons in with the forks after you wash them?"

Shortly after Mr. Sandys had entered their lives, he had decreed that his daughters could no longer lead the life of the idle rich, but must help out in the home. Their first attempts at housekeeping were so bad it would have been laughable had it not ended in a whipping for all five girls. In retrospect it was not nearly as bad as the whippings they received subsequently. But that first time, only Elizabeth, 14 and bristling with loud indignation on behalf of her sisters, had been cut until she bled, with Mr. Sandys stopping only when Jane had thrown herself into the fray and tried to take the lash for her. After that, whenever Mr. Sandys executed his fatherly duties to its highest degree, the sisters, salving each other's wounds, would refer to it as a "spoons and forks day."

"It is much more wicked than that," said Elizabeth soberly. "It is so wicked that even _you_ would deem it wicked. And you know you are the only living creature whose judgment I fear."

"I would never judge you, Lizzy. I know anything you do will be right."

"Do you?" Elizabeth smiled. "Then prepare yourself for something very awful, for I intend to test your forbearance. I offered to be Mr. Darcy's mistress."

From the silence, Elizabeth knew that her sister was shocked. But as this was fully expected, she felt no need to rush to explain herself.

"Why, Lizzy?"

"Why not, Jane? You know I have said I would never marry."

"I know," said Jane slowly. "But I thought you might change your mind. I thought perhaps if you met a kind, decent man, who would respect you and love you for who you are … "

"I am convinced such a creature does not exist. Or if he does, he is as rare as a winning lottery ticket, and can be revealed only after one is irrevocably committed. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance, Jane, and I am not so foolish as to accept the odds. And thus - my choice is between abject poverty, continuing to live with Mr. Sandys or this."

"Oh, Lizzy." Jane looked at her sister with eyes full of worry. "It is not that I judge you. But is it _safe_?"

"Safe?"

"Men have such power," she whispered. "Once they have you in their control ... You do not know, Lizzy. You have only experienced Mr. Sandys, and all he ever did was whip us. But a husband … they can be infinitely worse."

Jane trembled a bit and Elizabeth put her arms around her gently and held her until the trembling stopped. Her heart swelled with rage and indignation. Her sister had been so full of hope and good intentions when Sir Henry, a customer of Mr. Sandys, had first spied her working in Mr. Sandys's shop. She was still full of good intentions, but the hope was long gone, replaced by fear and a sad resignation that broke Elizabeth's heart every time she saw it.

"That is why I will never accept a husband, Jane," she said briskly, sitting back down in the chair opposite. Wives must obey their husbands, but mistresses may do whatever they please. If he does not treat me with the most tender consideration, I shall throw him out."

"But then what will you do?" Jane asked fearfully. "Where will you go? Mr. Sandys would never allow you to return to his house and Sir Henry does not allow me any money so I would have nothing to send you. Will you have to continue, finding another man to protect you?"

"Perhaps I shall, if I find a decent one whom I can trust. Do not worry so!" she said at her sister's stricken face. "I have a plan. Mr. Darcy has offered me a large sum of money to become his mistress, and if I can make him fall _very_ in love with me, perhaps he will give me many expensive presents besides."

She explained the terms of the contract, glossing over the fact that she had to endure to the end of six months before she would receive any payment. There was no need to worry Jane.

"So you see, I shall be quite comfortable. Who knows? Perhaps I will become rich! Rich enough to run away with you," she added in an undertone.

Jane looked alarmed. She whispered, "No, Lizzy, do not think of that. It is too late for me. I am content, truly I am."

Elizabeth squeezed her hands fiercely. "You are _not_ content, Jane! Do not pretend. No woman should have to endure what you do."

"Lizzy, it is my fault too. Sir Henry married me to give him an heir and I have failed. Perhaps if I succeeded … "

"You _did_ succeed," Elizabeth whispered hotly. "You would have bore him two fine sons if he had not lost his temper that one day, and infected you with his licentious diseases every other time …"

A spasm of pain passed over Jane's face at the mention of the lost babies. Elizabeth immediately looked contrite.

"Never mind! We shall not talk of this now. But perhaps one day, when I have a home of my own, you can come to me. Mary and Kitty too, if they wish to. We will have a nice cottage in a clearing and grow flowers and turnips, and I shall have many stories to tell."

They planned and schemed for the remainder of the visit. Elizabeth explained that she intended to be _incognito_ , adopting the name of Mrs. Smith and passing herself off as a young widow. That way, her name would not be about, and she would take care to wear veils when she went out in public. The only people who were likely to see her would be Mr. Darcy's men friends or other women like herself.

As for Mr. Sandys, he would no doubt disown her and deny her existence as soon as he read her note. Just like he did with Lydia, their youngest sister who had run off two years earlier with an officer. If Lydia ever attempted to write home, Mr. Sandys did not permit anybody to know, and her name was never again uttered in the vicinity of their home. She was dead to them, and thus Mr. Sandys' respectability thrived green and healthy.

The sisters' final discussion was the most hushed of all, as they mulled over how Elizabeth might manage to get messages to Jane undetected. Sir Henry was quite open in reading Jane's mail, and frequently quizzed the servants on her movements to make sure she was not encountering any handsome young men who might be moved by her situation. The fact that he thought _Jane_ capable of such deceit and conniving was just more proof that he did not know her at all, Elizabeth reflected. Now if _she_ had been such a situation, she would have done everything she could to cheat him, and without an ounce of shame.

Standing on the steps afterward as she waited for the Gardiner carriage to come round, Elizabeth took a deep breath of London air. It was laden with the usual stench, but still it was welcome respite from the oppressiveness of her brother's home, where everything seemed to watch her.

The Gardiners' sole manservant touched his hat to her. "Home, Miss Bennet?" he inquired.

"Not yet, John," she said. "Take me to the Bazaar on Bond Street first. Mr. Sandys charged me with purchasing him a number of items."

This was true, but her real interest lay with the attorney tucked into the back of the bazaar, whom she had consulted about her sister's situation the last time she had been staying with the Gardiners in London. She had been impressed by his knowledge, but even more by his discretion. She thought he could help her with Mr. Darcy's contract, or find her someone who could. And he could probably communicate directly with Mr. Darcy's attorney as well, to put the final touches on the papers.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	4. Chapter 4 - Crossing Over

**CHAPTER 4 - CROSSING OVER**

Inside the mail coach, the other three passengers slept, but Elizabeth was wide awake. They were approaching the crossroads that marked the end of the neighbourhood of Meryton. In a moment they would be across and she would be cast out, perhaps never to return.

Overhead, the gallows that hung at the highway crossing as a warning to all wrongdoers reached high into the stygian darkness. Still, she could see - and smell - the gibbeted convicts who hung there in their cages and chains. One had been a woman, judging from the remnant of her pale gown, which flapped in the wind.

She had come to a bad end, whoever she was, Elizabeth thought. Perhaps a gently born lady who had slid into sin and regret, before succumbing to desperation and finally, the violent embrace of the scaffold.

Perhaps it was not too late to turn back. She had told no one where she was going, deciding in the end that saying good-bye to her sisters exposed them to too great a risk. She could demand that the coach stop now to let her out. It was six miles back to Meryton, to Mr. Sandys's handsome, modern house, and the Bennet girls' secure, confined existence. She knew the way, even in the dark. If she walked fast, she could be there well before daybreak. She could reclaim the note she had left in Mr. Sandys's office, slip into her cold bed -

The coachman snapped the whip. The horses leapt forward. The coach raced into the night, toward its destination.

* * *

The emeralds sparkled under the bright lights of many Argand lamps and Darcy nodded his head to indicate his approval. The jeweller, Mr. Rundell, smiled at the acquisition of another customer of the best kind, a rich man besotted with his mistress. He closed the velvet lid lovingly over the expensive bauble and presented the box to Darcy, who slipped it in his pocket.

It was another expense, one Darcy had not planned for. But while he had plenty of precious gems at his disposal, one did not exactly put the family jewels on one's mistress.

His _mistress_. Darcy tested the word carefully, still undetermined if it brought more pleasure or pain. He thought about the meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam's attorney and then his own solicitor, who had held the Darcy family retainer since his grandfather's time. The old man had not been happy to receive his instructions to liquidate one of his investments for the settlement.

"Your father would never have done such injury to the estate," said Mr. Hedworth in querulous disapproval. "Nor your great-uncle the judge. Ah! They were fine gentlemen, not like these young lords who will go to the devil anyhow, gambling and whoring."

Darcy had rolled his eyes and shrugged. It was _his_ money, was it not? And what was a few thousand pounds to him? Had he not been a model heir since inheriting the estate, living well below his means and pouring everything extra into improving and expanding Pemberley?

"A man needs his pleasures, cousin," Colonel Fitzwilliam had teased him, clapping him on the shoulder. "It does not do to be too pure and perfect, or before you know it, you will turn into one of those stiff, moralizing busybodies, whose life is consumed with making sure everybody is as miserable as themselves. I see signs it is happening already."

Indeed. He had been a bugbear in Hertfordshire, brooding over the frailty of his sister, Georgiana, and the latest, fresh betrayal of his boyhood friend, George Wickham. Until he met Elizabeth. She had mocked his bad humour and teased him out of his misery. He had never met such a woman, who slew him with his own words and was indifferent to his - or anybody's - judgment. Her eyes had asked all the right questions and her body seemed to promise all of the answers he would need in this world and maybe the next one.

He frowned. He had made her an honourable offer and she had rejected it. This whole situation was not his idea, but hers.

* * *

The mail coach drew into the large coaching inn at exactly four o'clock in the morning. Given the early hour, the inn yard was quiet. She looked around. Had he kept his word? Would her new carriage be waiting for her like she asked? Black with no identifying marks, she had told her attorney to pass onto him. And enclosed with shades, so she could drive without being seen. Other than that, small or secondhand, she did not care.

The only thing she could see was a smart barouche-landau with silver fittings, the black paint gleaming with newness. It was the type of carriage that fashionable women paraded through Hyde Park. That was not it, surely? But the coachman who had been napping atop the coach box, his hat over his eyes, had roused himself and was approaching her.

"Mrs. Smith?" he inquired.

She nodded. "You are employed by Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes, ma'am. I am your coachman. James is the name. This way, please, and then I will see to your luggage."

"There is no need. This is all I have."

It was all she could carry, knowing she had had two miles to walk in the dark from Mr. Sandys's house to the nearest posting inn. In any case, Mr. Darcy had told her he would provide for her and given her a silk purse bulging with coins for her travelling and other expenses. When she counted it, it came to forty pounds, more than she had ever had at one time by many times over. She liked the feel of it, secreted in a pocket in her gown. It gave her a feeling of security.

James took her meagre possessions and placed them in the boot.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she climbed into the coach. She was curious to see what lodgings Mr. Darcy could have found that granted her the anonymity she demanded. Not Mayfair, surely, and hopefully nowhere near Gracechurch Street, where Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner lived.

"Kensington, ma'am," he said. "About a mile from Town."

That was clever of him. Kensington was a country area just west of Hyde Park, dotted with farms and commons and the stately homes of lords and wealthy bankers who needed to be close to London but disliked its noise and crowds. It would be easy for her to hide away in Kensington.

As the carriage pulled off the paved road onto a little used track hidden by thick trees on either side, her approval turned to misgivings. Was the house, perhaps, a little too isolated? Quickly she scanned the landscape, squinting in the darkness to make note of lanes and pathways and breaks in the trees that allowed for easy escape. She saw with relief that the trees were not really so thick except around the property itself and it was all open country beyond, with no fences or barriers.

The house was a good-sized farmhouse, standing in a small clearing and kept in good repair. She alighted from the carriage and knocked on the door and was admitted by a respectably dressed middle-aged woman who ushered her in and helped her remove her things.

Inside, the house was furnished on a comfortable, even sumptuous, scale, though the drawing room was half the size of the one at Sandys House. The rest of the rooms on the ground floor consisted of kitchen and servants' quarters. That meant the bedchamber floor was upstairs.

"Would you like some breakfast, ma'am, or would you prefer to rest?" said the woman, who had introduced herself as Mrs. Wortley. "I can send up a tray to your bedchamber."

She opted for the latter, then followed the woman into the kitchen to help her make it. Mrs. Wortley seemed unsurprised at her assistance and chatted willingly under her questioning. Elizabeth wondered if she had done this before, kept house for a young lady under the protection of a man.

"Yes, ma'am. I was with my last young lady for two years. That was for the Earl of Benning."

"What happened to her, do you know?"

"Ah! She did not turn out well, that one. Ran up the gambling debts and became embroiled in an intrigue with Lord Benning's youngest son. When the old lord found out, he threw them both out, though the Countess made him forgive his son and take him back. But she was cast out with just the clothes on her back and that was it for her. I warned her, but would she listen? She loved him, she said." Mrs. Wortley shook her head in disapproval. "Love! As if that would pay the bills. Captain Londes did not have a farthing to his name other than his army pay and what the Earl allowed him. But then, the gentlemen who intrigue are only too willing to walk away when they've had their fun, I find, so perhaps there was nothing for her even if he had."

"How do you know Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do not particularly. But I needed a new place and Mr. Hicks said this would be a good one."

Mr. Hicks was Darcy's attorney, the one who had drafted the documents.

They took the tray upstairs. There was a single bedchamber and separate dressing rooms, and Elizabeth saw that James had put her case into one of the dressing rooms. Mrs. Wortley went over to her case and began unpacking its contents, shaking out the few gowns.

"There is a maid for you, but she will not arrive until tomorrow," Mrs. Wortley explained. "If you need anything, just ask and I will help you."

"When will Mr. Darcy come, do you know?"

"This evening, he said. After six o'clock."

She nodded. That gave her time. Time for what, she did not know, as there was nothing to do. But she was still glad he would not come right away. She had been afraid he would be there when she arrived, with immediate demands.

Mrs. Wortley continued to chatter as she worked, about her life before her husband, a shoemaker, had died and she had taken up the profession she had worked in before she was married. To be sure, she had kept house for respectable families, families with sheltered, pampered daughters, whose greatest worry was whether the latest style in bonnets flattered or offended their faces. But the work she did now was no harder. In fact, it was easier with only one lady to look after, and it paid more besides.

Elizabeth had finished her tray and was wondering how to ask Mrs. Wortley politely to leave so she could rest, but there was no need. As soon as Mrs. Wortley saw that she was done, she picked up her tray and told her to ring if she wanted anything.

Left alone, Elizabeth slipped out of her gown, lied down in her chemise on the day bed in the dressing room and thought about what was to come. She knew a little, mostly from books and discussions with Charlotte, who had been her closest friend and ally since Jane's departure had left her bereft. They had no secrets from each other and they prided themselves on being blunt-spoken.

"What is it like, Charlotte? Does it hurt?" she had asked shortly after Charlotte's marriage to Mr. Collins.

"Only the first time, Eliza, and only at first. After that, not at all, though it can be uncomfortable at times."

"How do you stand it?"

"It is not really so bad, Eliza. Not every man is a Sir Henry. Mr. Collins is perfectly gentle and considerate. And it is over very quickly, especially if I give him any encouragement. He even thanks me afterward."

"Thanks you!"

"Truly, he does. He says, 'Thank you, Mrs. Collins, you are a very good wife.' And then he pats me on the shoulder and goes to sleep."

Shocked and horrified at this intimate picture of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth had burst into laughter. Charlotte laughed with her, then sobered.

"Are you sorry, Elizabeth? That you did not marry him yourself?"

"Me? Marry Mr. Collins?" she said incredulously.

"I know he intended to ask you first, because you are his cousin," Charlotte said, somewhat shamefacedly.

Elizabeth had shaken her head vigorously. Mr. Collins was the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry. Immediately after taking possession of Longbourn, he had allowed the Bennet women to remain, but sold off the entire contents of Mr. Bennet's library, decreeing that it contained material unfit for ladies to read.

Elizabeth, who had been away with the Gardiners when the sale happened, had never forgotten or forgiven. Indeed, that was how her friendship with Charlotte had been cemented, for Charlotte had persuaded her father to purchase a few of the books, the most well-worn and well-read ones. When she showed them to Elizabeth and told her she would keep them for her, Elizabeth had wept for the first time since her father's death. The books remained at Lucas Lodge, for Mr. Sandys also prohibited his womenfolk anything other than conduct manuals, cookery books and the Bible.

"What will you do, Eliza? You must marry sometime," Charlotte asked. "You must not be too choosy or you will find yourself married off to someone like Sir Henry, or even worse."

This was true. Elizabeth knew Mr. Sandys was seeking a similar match for her as he had found for Jane. From his viewpoint, Sir Henry was a very profitable connection, not only for the investment he made in the Sandys wine business, but also for the patronage Sir Henry brought from his other wealthy friends. She did not like the wealthy men he introduced her to, most old enough to be her father or grandfather.

"I know, Charlotte," she replied in despair. "But I cannot. I cannot do it. It is forever."

"I understand why you did not like Mr. Collins. But someone like him would be best. Someone foolish and simple, who can be made to believe that your wishes are his own."

"Stupid men are the only ones worth marrying after all!" Elizabeth joked.

"It is better than the alternative," Charlotte said practically.

Yes, if that was the only other alternative, Elizabeth thought. But was it?

She thought about Mr. Darcy. Was he a Mr. Collins or a Sir Henry? He did not seem a simpleton like Mr. Collins, but nor did he appear to be ruled by base passion like Sir Henry. If anything, the man was cold and controlled, with too high an opinion of himself and too low of one of others. And he had cheated Mr. Wickham.

Although, she was less disposed to believe Mr. Wickham after what he had attempted to do to her that week. If the imprint of her hand across his face faded quickly, she hoped the tongue-lashing she had given him would ring in his ears for longer. He had given her a wide berth since.

"Why were you so surprised, Eliza?" Charlotte had asked, amused at her disappointment at the discovery of Wickham's libidinousness.

"I believed him to be my friend," she said, stung.

"Men do not pay attention to pretty young women out of a sense of friendship."

No, they did not. She should have known. Even cold and critical Mr. Darcy had only one thing on his mind. But at least he was prepared to pay the price, and he was willing to pay it to her and not Mr. Sandys.

* * *

By six o'clock, she was as pretty as her efforts and Mrs. Wortley could make her. She had brought her best gown to wear, but Mrs. Wortley had told her that the men typically preferred to see their ladies dressed informally, so she was in her second-best gown with her hair loosely bound and flowing about her shoulders.

He arrived a few minutes later in his curricle, driving, with a footman behind. Elizabeth, peeking out from between the drapes, saw him toss the reins to the footman and jump out. He strode purposefully for the door, his linen coat swirling behind him. She retreated and sat down on the chaise lounge nearest the door, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

The door opened without a knock. She rose to face him. He remained standing on the threshold for a moment, tall and imposing, looking her up and down.

"Hello," she said, forcing her face into the warmest smile he had ever received from her.

"Elizabeth."

His smile lit his face and banished his usual haughtiness. In two strides, he crossed to her and put his arm around her waist. She froze and tensed in his grip, but he only kissed her on the cheek.

"You look beautiful," he said, stepping back.

"Thank you. May I take your coat?"

"Oh yes, thank you."

She helped him strip it off and after he retrieved some items from its pockets, he let her take it away.

When she returned, it was with Mrs. Wortley, bearing a wine tray. He had seated himself on the sofa and Mrs. Wortley put it down in front of him, then curtsied and said she would be in her chambers if needed but otherwise would retire for the night. Neither Darcy nor Elizabeth noticed her go.

"Will you not sit down?" Darcy asked, indicating the space by him.

She sat down, as far away from him as possible without making it look like she was doing so, then poured them both glasses of wine and handed him his.

"To love," he proposed, raising his glass to her.

She refrained with difficulty from rolling her eyes and instead smiled. "To love."

They clinked glasses and drank. He drank his down so she did as well. Then he took her glass away and put them both down on the table. He moved over, bridging the space between them so that now their knees were touching and they were turned to each other. He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa.

"I have a present for you," he said.

She dimpled. "What is it?"

In silence, he withdrew the Rundell & Bridge box from his pocket and placed it on her lap. She glanced at him, then the box, then carefully lifted the lid. The emeralds sparkled and winked in the candlelight. Very expensive, Elizabeth thought happily.

"They are lovely," she said with perfect sincerity, then smiled, dipping her eyelashes in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner. "Would you like a kiss for it?"

He fingered one of her curls that lay on her shoulder, wrapping it around his finger. She willed herself not to flinch or pull away. "Two, I think."

"Two?"

"You promised me one when you signed the agreement, but then I did not have an opportunity to see you."

She took a deep breath, then leant forward toward his lips, hoping he would know what to do when she actually made it there. Thankfully, he did, pulling her closer with one hand around her waist. When they parted, he smiled in her eyes. "That is one."

Taking another deep breath, she leant in again. This time he met her halfway, pulling her close to him with both hands. Halfway through the kiss he pushed his tongue in her mouth, causing her to squawk in surprise and squeeze his lapels in her hands. Apparently he took it as encouragement, because suddenly she was completely wrapped in his arms and half-lying across the sofa, pushed into it by his weight. She could feel his excitement pressing into her thigh.

 _It is over very quickly, especially if I give him any encouragement_. Charlotte's words echoed in her head. She moved her hands off his lapels, where they were pushing him away slightly, and put them around his neck instead, pulling him in closer. He groaned and shifted his weight so now he was lying between her legs. She wriggled under him and put her hands in his hair.

"Elizabeth," he said in a strangled voice, his breath coming hard and fast. He pulled her hands off him and struggled upright. "I had better go soak the preservative."

It had been part of the agreement, conveyed between their attorneys, that their congress would take place with him in armour and that he would supply them. It was not something she had been aware of and she was grateful, though deeply embarrassed, that her attorney had raised it. It was not a legally enforceable term, he had warned her - indeed the bulk of the cohabitation agreement was likely unenforceable on the grounds of immorality, except for the deed that created the settlement - but there was still benefit in putting it in writing to record the understanding.

"They need to soak?" she asked, surprised, sitting up in turn.

"Yes, for two hours or they cannot be put on."

"Two hours!"

He misread her dismay and grinned. He gave her a quick kiss and stood up to go to the kitchen, walking a little stiffly. "I will be back soon."

Left alone, Elizabeth groaned. Two hours! How was she to make it through such a length of time? She had never been able to spend more than a minute in his company without getting embroiled in an argument. If she could challenge him to a debate perhaps they could fill the time. _Be it resolved, the men of England have it far better than the women_.

He returned and she gave him a falsely cheery smile. He poured them both more wine and handed her a glass. She pretended to drink hers and watched in satisfaction as he downed half his glass. Perhaps if she could get him drunk he would sleep away the next two hours.

"What would you like to do?" she asked, topping up his glass adroitly when he placed it on the table.

"You know what I would like to do," he said, smiling meaningfully at her. He fingered the sleeve of her gown. "But I think I had best refrain or I will not be able to resist you."

"Oh, I am sure you can resist me if you try," she said with an arch smile. "I understand in some circles I am considered barely _tolerable_."

"I cannot imagine who would say that," he said, gazing into her eyes soulfully.

She choked back a laugh. He did not remember! She supposed he went through life issuing such a stream of offence against defenceless young ladies that they all blended into one after a while. However, she could not goad him into an argument or the arrangement would be over before it had begun. What they needed was an activity of some kind.

"I do not suppose you brought a deck of cards with you?" she asked.

"A deck of cards?" he said, surprised at this _non sequitur_.

"I thought it would make the time pass more quickly." She batted her eyelashes at him. She was beginning to embrace her role.

He smiled at this and said, "I will bring some next time. There is a chessboard here, however. Would you like to play? I can teach you if you do not know how."

"Oh!" She had played chess with Mr. Bennet frequently, and sometimes with Jane, but after Jane had left, there had been nobody in the family who would play with her. "Yes, I would like to play."

He said the chessboard was upstairs and he went to fetch it. When he came down, he set it up at the games table in the room, which was square with four hard chairs. It was a beautiful board, polished mahogany with mother-of-pearl inlays. Elizabeth brought the wine over and seated herself across from him. She graciously accepted the white pieces and made the first move, a conventional opening. He also moved conventionally and the opening proceeded uneventfully.

Elizabeth then began deploying her attack and they battled for control of the centre, exchanging pawns and knights and bishops as they went along.

"You are a good player," Darcy commented, hunching down to study the board.

"Thank you; so are you," she returned.

The battle continued, with neither ceding an advantage or gaining a step on the other. The wine bottle was empty and they cracked another. She leant over the board, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks pink with excitement. Darcy watched her in admiration.

He was distracted, she thought. Would he fall for her trap for his queen? She had set it up with a screen of her real intent, hoping to lure him in. Yes! He had fallen for it. She moved one of her rooks to lock the trap into place. Either way he went, he would lose his queen to one of her rooks.

She saw his hand reach for his piece, then pause over the board. He had spied her trap! But it was too late, she had him. He looked up and his eyes met hers.

"Very clever," he smiled.

"Thank you," she smiled back, for real this time.

He moved his queen into the path of one of her rooks, his hand resting on it for a moment. Then he lifted it. Almost too quickly, she sent her rook in for the kill.

Again, he smiled at her. She smiled back, pleasantly surprised that he would be such a good loser.

He moved a pawn into place. "Checkmate," he said.

What! Hastily she scanned the board. She groaned. It was all too true. She had been so eager to take his queen that she had failed to notice the peril that had been slowly gathering around her king.

He stood up and went to the kitchen while she studied the chessboard. When he returned, he had a glass of fluid in his hand. "Two hours, Elizabeth." He smiled warmly at her, his eyes alight with anticipation, and held out his hand.

She stood up. Sighing at the defeat, she gave him her hand and he led her up the stairs.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. Rundell & Bridge was the jeweller to royalty and nobility.

2\. Condoms, aka preservatives, preventatives, armour and cundums, made up of sheep gut were used by upper class men to prevent STDs (with sex workers) and also sometimes as birth control (with mistresses). However, they were very expensive and the fact that they were packaged dried and had to be soaked for two hours before use greatly limited their application. They would not have been used by respectable ladies.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	5. Chapter 5 - Losing It

**CHAPTER 5 - LOSING IT**

 _Dearest darling J,_

 _I arrived yesterday, safe and sound. My departure was uneventful and Mr. S was informed that I went to visit an elderly and ailing maiden aunt in Scotland and may remain if we suit each other. I know not what he will believe but at least he has a story to tell the neighbourhood if he wishes for one. Please comfort our family as best you can and help them believe what will cause them least pain. I leave it to your discretion as to how much you wish to reveal, and to whom, but above all, do not risk yourself._

 _I have seen Mr. D, who called yesterday evening. He has met all of his obligations in a satisfactory manner so I do not believe there is any cause for concern. We did have an initial misunderstanding as to the fundamental conditions of our agreement …_

* * *

At the top of the stairs, he paused to kiss her, holding the glass away from their bodies. Mindful of Charlotte's words, she kissed him back. It was simple, really. All she had to do was mirror his actions back to him and he seemed perfectly content. Perhaps _content_ was not the right word. Animated? Excited? Inflamed? With any luck, this would be over before she knew it and she and Mrs. Wortley would have the house to themselves again.

Inside the door of the bedchamber, he set the glass down on some table and picked her up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and they continued kissing as he carried her to the bed. This time she stuck _her_ tongue in _his_ mouth, causing him to growl at the back of his throat, drop her on the bed and climb on top of her. He tore at the buttons of her gown, lifting it over her head, then attacked the laces on her stays, disposing of them in short order as well. Aware that he had more layers than her, she applied herself with energy to his cravat and tailcoat and waistcoat. When he removed her chemise, she turned her attention to his trousers. What emerged was not reassuring, but her courage rose with this attempt to intimidate her. She continued kissing him as he fumbled with the preservative. She also did not resist when he pulled her thighs apart. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and braced herself for the assault. It came swiftly.

"Ow … Ow! … OW!" she screamed. She pushed at him with all of her might, then kicked him, although not in a particularly tender part. He rolled off her to the side of the bed.

"My god, what is the matter?" Darcy cried.

"I am sorry. I did not think it would hurt so much," she said, dashing involuntary tears from her eyes.

"Did not think _what_ would hurt so much …"

His face drained of colour and was replaced with a look of illumination, then a dawning horror.

He was silent while Elizabeth checked her person and the sheets, looking for blood. There was none. Did that mean it was _still_ not over?

"Elizabeth," he said at last, very, very quietly. "Are you a maiden?"

"Of course I am a maiden!" she snapped. Then his words sank in and she said indignantly, "You thought I was not?"

"Erm. I was given to understand that no maiden would make me such an offer. That only a woman with certain … er … _appetites_ would prefer a relationship of cohabitation to marriage." _I am going to murder Fitzwilliam_.

"You thought I had appetites?" she said, insulted.

"You did not _act_ like a maiden."

She opened her mouth furiously, but as she did so, an image of herself bartering her honour, and then tearing off his clothing, ran through her mind. She closed her mouth again.

"You should not have assumed," she said finally, folding her arms across her chest crossly.

He merely nodded dazedly, still considering the implication of the facts. When he did not speak, she tossed her head.

"Does it make a difference?"

"A difference?"

"That I am a maiden."

He shook his head as if to clear it. "It would certainly have resulted in a significant _variance_ in my approach."

"In what way?"

"I would have proceeded far more slowly, for one. In a calm and controlled manner."

"Why can you not do that now?"

Go slow? He looked at her, the embodiment of all of his desires. She was pure and chaste, except for the part where she was sitting on a bed naked with swollen lips and tousled hair, inviting him to partake of her person.

Darcy did the only thing possible.

"Excuse me," he said, then bolted for the door of his dressing room.

* * *

Elizabeth watched him go in dismay. Did he not want her anymore, simply because she was a maiden? Had he expected a woman with greater experience and abilities than she had? Everything had been going so well. If he withdrew now, all would be for nought. There was no blood anywhere; there was no doubt she remained _virgo intacta_ , and her attorney had warned her that this was the key condition that would make it impossible for him to unwind the trust he had created and take the money back.

What should she do now? She could not return to Mr. Sandys's house, pretending nothing had happened. Could she go to the Gardiners? Her heart rebelled against the idea. The Bennets had overtaxed them already, what with the dowry Mr. Sandys had demanded to marry her mother, and then the expense of the many, vain attempts to locate Lydia, which Mr. Sandys had refused to assist in. Her aunt and uncle had been very good, but while they were human there must be resentment. They had their own children to provide for after all.

She began to feel angry. It was not fair. She had risked so much and been so careful. She had never represented herself _not_ to be a maiden. She had understood that men preferred maidens! What terrible luck that she would happen across the one man in England with strange and warped tastes.

Or was it her fault? Perhaps she had not encouraged him enough. But what more could she have done? She supposed kicking him was a bad idea, but she had done it unthinkingly before she could stop herself. Oh why could she not have controlled herself better!

Swiftly her mind began assessing the options. There was the remainder of the forty pounds he had given her, the emeralds and the carriage. She could sell the carriage; it was supposed to be hers. That would give her enough money to start a new life, perhaps in America or Canada. But that would mean leaving Jane. And she could not drive the carriage, especially if he took the servants and horses. How was she to get it to a carriage dealer?

While Elizabeth's mind raced, the door opened and Darcy re-entered, wearing a dressing gown. He looked shaken but oddly more at ease. When he saw her, still naked but for her stockings, he froze for a moment, then advanced, stripping off his dressing gown and wrapping it around her shoulders to cover her. Then he sat down near her on the edge of the bed, covering himself with a corner of the blanket.

"Why did you go just now?" she asked when he was silent.

He coloured with embarrassment and looked sheepish. "I, er, needed a moment to gather myself." Then he looked at her. "Elizabeth, we must talk."

"What about?" she said warily.

"About you being a maiden."

"Did you not think I was a maiden when you asked me to marry you?"

"Yes."

"If you were prepared to do it then, why are you not now?"

He looked at her quizzically. "That is not the issue."

"Then what is it?"

He looked embarrassed again. "I have never done this before."

"With a woman?"

"With a woman who is … virgin."

"Oh."

"I will do my best, but it may not be very good."

"I know," she said with resignation.

He looked askance at her, but persisted in his point. "It might even be terrible."

A look of alarm passed over her face and he hastily amended, "The point is, it will improve over time. Perhaps not the second or third or fourth time … or even the fifth or sixth or seventh … or the eighth or ninth … or tenth or eleventh … But eventually, if you can just be patient and not run off anywhere. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said. No, she thought. But it did sound like he was prepared to go through with it, which was all that truly mattered.

"So I suggest we make an attempt, and if you are not immediately happy with the result, we will try again later tonight."

"Later tonight?" she said sharply. _Once a week on Saturdays_ , Charlotte had said.

"Or tomorrow or the next day," Darcy said hastily. "If that is your preference."

"But we will _complete_ one tonight, will we not?" She did not think she could take the uncertainty.

A smile appeared on his face. "Yes, if that is your wish. You are determined, then?"

She nodded and began to remove the dressing gown.

"Er - " Darcy said as the dressing gown parted to reveal her naked shoulders and a pair of extremely nubile breasts. "Why do you not keep that on for the moment. Or else I might need to go gather myself again and that will only delay the proceedings."

She looked at him uncomprehendingly, but nodded and pulled the dressing gown over her shoulders.

"I suggest we start more slowly. Perhaps with a kiss. May I kiss you?"

She looked at him. She had always thought him handsome, and he was even more so now, when he did not look haughty and arrogant but instead tender and somewhat sheepish. The only person who looked at her with such tenderness now was Jane. Despite the dim evening light, she noticed that there were green flecks in his brown eyes.

"Yes," she said.

* * *

… _but dearest J, as that issue was amicably resolved to the mutual satisfaction of both parties, I do not believe it will pose an obstacle. Mr. D is not entirely as I expected, but I find that is to the good and have no complaints. All my love to the end of time, and do not forget to dispose of this note directly after you read it,_

 _L_

* * *

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	6. Chapter 6 - Spring Idylls

**CHAPTER 6 - SPRING IDYLLS**

He stayed most of the first night, leaving at the early light. Dimly through her exhausted sleep, she felt his hand glide gently over her naked hip, then his breath in her hair and his kiss on her forehead. When she woke, he was gone.

The first two weeks were strange, full of waiting and uncertainty. He came every night, bearing gifts of flowers or fruit. Any hope she had had that his visits would be brief was quickly extinguished by the fact that he rarely bothered to soak the preservative beforehand. Instead, they played chess, which he usually won, and he asked her questions: about her family, her life in Hertfordshire and why she preferred to cohabit with a man rather than marry.

She was not comfortable answering any of it truthfully so she did not try. Instead, she lied, fluently and repeatedly. It was a skill Mr. Sandys had forced upon his new daughters and one she had learnt well.

"Yes, my family is very well. They do not approve of what I have done, but they are willing to admit my letters in private."

"My life in Hertfordshire was perfectly happy."

"Why should a woman _not_ wish to cohabit with a single man in possession of a good fortune? When he treats her so well and spoils her so."

The latter she would say with a teasing, upward look and a squeeze of his arm, which invariably brought kisses and put an end to further inquiries of the kind.

Their bedchamber activities continued. It was painful, despite his attempts to be slow and gentle, which she appreciated. She liked his kisses, all over her person, and his thick, dark hair and how it sprang back from his forehead when he took her breasts in his hands and kissed and licked them. She liked the sensations he was able to produce in her, strange and shivery and sometimes intense. But the act of coition itself was far more painful than she had expected based on what Charlotte told her and that she did not like. She hid it from him, however: if a cry of pain should happen to escape her lips he seemed to take it as a sign of enjoyment and she made efforts to encourage him in the notion. It seemed to increase his excitement and ended the ordeal much more quickly.

He came often during the day as well, sometimes alone on horseback, other times in his curricle with a footman in attendance. She was resigned to seeing him in the evenings and even looked forward to it on occasion, if only to break the dreadful monotony. But the day visits she resented.

Mrs. Wortley had advised her that if he was like other gentlemen, he would wish her to be waiting for him whenever he came. Consequently, she did not wander out of sight of the house and instead attempted to busy herself helping Mrs. Wortley and her new maid, Dorothy, in the farmhouse and the small garden behind it.

The first few times, he did not stay but informed her he was only passing through. She wondered where he was going that he would pass through so frequently. He always asked her if she was well and whether she needed anything. She never did.

One day, he came upon her taking a short walk and gave the curricle to his footman and accompanied her. They wandered through the brush and newly planted fields for an hour, not speaking much, and when they returned to the farmhouse, she asked him if he would like to come in for refreshment.

He sat on the sofa with a glass of cold lemonade and she sat across from him on the edge of an armchair, her back straight. He looked around the room curiously.

"You are always here when I come. Do you not go out?"

"I would, if I knew ahead of time when you might come."

He smiled. "Are you waiting for me, then?"

"I understood you expected me to be here when you come."

She looked out the window, unsmiling. His smile faded and he looked serious.

"No, I do not expect it. I hope to see you, of course, but if you were not here I would not be upset. As long as I can see you in the evening."

She looked at him then. "You would not mind if I took the coach into Town or for a drive?"

"Not at all, that is what it is for. In fact, James tells me the only exercise the horses have other than fetching supplies is him driving them around here, solely to keep them in form. He is worried they will get fat."

"Oh! Well then, I - I will."

She looked more cheerful and he was emboldened to say, "You will wish to go shopping, I imagine. I know you did not come with much. I have set up accounts for you with all of the shopkeepers in the West End that my family frequents, but if there is a special shop you like you have only to say. Mrs. Wortley has the list and it is under your assumed name, Elizabeth Smith."

"Oh!" she said again. Then, "Thank you."

They stared at each other and she blushed and looked down at the ground. She whispered, "I am sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" he said in surprise.

"I misjudged you a little."

"I am not the ogre you feared?" He gave her a small smile.

"No," she said, returning his smile. "It seems you are not."

She rose from her chair and came and sat on the sofa with him. He looked pleased and put down his lemonade and made room for her. They sat there for a few minutes in silence, Elizabeth studying the carpet while he studied her face. When he spoke, he was earnest.

"I would like you to be as happy as possible, Elizabeth. If there is anything I can do for you, bring to you, you have only to ask."

She was about to embark on her usual disclaimer when she had a sudden thought.

"Could you bring me some -" she hesitated. "Could you bring me some books?"

"Yes," he said with a smile. "I can do that. Anything else?"

"A newspaper?"

His smile broadened. "I can arrange for a subscription. James can drive to the post office every day to get it for you. That will make him happy. Any particular newspaper, or would you like a selection of them?"

"What do you recommend?" she said. Her father had received many newspapers, which she had liked to read with him, but she did not know which were good now. Mr. Sandys only allowed newspapers at his shop, not his house, where the ladies might come upon them.

"Since my family are Whigs, you will have to have the _Morning Chronicle_ whether you will or no," he joked, referring to the premier Whig vehicle.

"The _Morning Chronicle_ is what my uncle reads."

"Then he would pass muster with _my_ uncle and his friends," Darcy said, smiling. She knew that Darcy's uncle was the Earl Fitzwilliam, one of the grandees of the Whig party.

"The feeling is not quite mutual, then, for _my_ uncle believes _yours_ is no more than tolerable, considering how he voted on the abolition of slavery," she teased.

"He did not vote on the abolition of slavery. He abstained."

"Precisely. A good and kindly man, but a hidebound faintheart in the end, my uncle said."

At the look of surprise on Darcy's face, Elizabeth immediately regretted her cheek. Oh, why did she have to be so hasty! She thought she had learnt better from Mr. Sandys by now. But Darcy only grinned.

"That is exactly what I thought, though I did not say so to his face."

They smiled at each other, then Darcy leant forward and kissed her on the lips. His were soft and she could taste the hint of lemon and sugar.

"I must go," he said when the kiss ended. He rose and she went with him.

"Will I see you tonight?"

"Yes, as soon as I can get away."

At the door, he kissed her again, then was gone.

* * *

He did not come until late that night, almost midnight, after she had given up hope of it. When he did come, it was in a stately carriage and four bearing his family crest and he wore formal court dress, a midnight blue coat stiff with silver embroidery, silk breeches and hose and a ceremonial sword by his side. She came out to see him as he exited the carriage with a large armful of books.

Her eyebrows rose at the sight of him. "Is that what you wear for bedtime reading?"

He looked down at himself and laughed. "No, it is what I wear when I go to visit my mistress."

It was the first time he had called her that in her hearing and there was a moment of silence. Then she smiled. "Then I will require it every time, for you look very handsome."

They went into the house and he placed the books down on the table, unbuckled the sword and removed his fine coat, draping it carefully across the back of the sofa. She dove into the books, reading the titles eagerly.

"I did not know what you liked so I brought a broad selection. Some books are for me as well." He tapped a book titled _Elements of Agricultural Chemistry_ and grinned.

She made a face. "Yes, I think I will leave that for you. Unless I am looking for something to put me to sleep."

He pulled her into his lap on the sofa and slid his hand underneath her skirts.

"I can provide you with something to put you to sleep," he whispered in her ear, huskily.

Elizabeth looked with regret at the tempting pile of books. But his lips were already at her breast and his hands between her thighs. When he tipped her out of his lap onto the sofa and pushed her skirts up to her waist, she made no protest.

The next morning, as soon as he left, she gave instructions to prepare the carriage for a trip to Town.

When they entered Jane's street in north Mayfair, she told James to drive slowly past. Everything was quiet. She scanned the windows of the townhouse and spied shadowy figures moving in Jane's dressing room, which must be Jane and her lady's maid. She watched until the carriage passed down the street.

At the end of the street, she found what she was looking for. It was a flower stall that sold seasonal plants, both potted and in bunches. The purveyor of the flowers looked up at the prospect of a customer, then recognized her as she lifted her veil.

Elizabeth cracked open the carriage door. "Will you ride with me?"

The young woman nodded, then looked around for someone to watch her stall. "Tommy!" she said sharply to a boy lounging nearby. She provided hasty instructions, then climbed into the coach.

Elizabeth waited until the carriage was moving again, then turned to the young woman. "Did Lady Blemmell receive my note?"

'Yes, ma'am. And left one for you."

The woman fumbled in her skirts for a pocket, then pulled out a tiny package, folded small, which she gave to Elizabeth. Unfolded, it became a single sheet of paper with writing on it. It read:

 _Darling L,_

 _How glad I am hear that you are well! Mr. S appears to have accepted your story. He generously informs all that he gave permission for you to go and you will not be home for some time, perhaps years. My mother also concurs and has asked no questions and therefore I have told her nothing. When next I speak to K and M in person, I shall say only that you are well and safe._

 _I told our aunt a little without saying details of who or where. She told our uncle and he was angry and swore he would not recognize you again. But darling, I do not think he means it; it is only because he loves you so. He cried when he heard. I warn you only so that you are on guard. Should you see him in the street, his reaction may be unpredictable._

 _God bless you, darling. Please write as often as you can to let me know you are well. Know that I think of you constantly though I may not write as often as I wish. Yours forever,_

 _J_

"How does she look?" Elizabeth questioned her, blinking back her tears.

"Perfectly well, ma'am. She bought tulips from me, and smiled and gave me an extra coin and inquired after my day. She always asks after me, no matter what he done to her. A fine, genteel lady she be, miss," the young woman said with admiration.

"Yes, she is. And with your help we will make her safe. Here is my note for her when next you have a chance. And you remember what I said about how to get a message to me should the need arise?" Elizabeth gave the woman another note, folded small into a tiny packet, a well as a silver coin.

"Yes, ma'am. I remember. I will send Tommy, he is a good boy. Thank you, ma'am."

The carriage eventually came round to the front of the flower stall again and Elizabeth let the woman out and purchased a large sheaf of tulips from her. She noticed James looked at her curiously so she said, imperiously, "She is a good girl who has helped me in the past. I promised her a ride in my new carriage."

She told him to take her to the shops next and she spent the next few hours making purchases. She was happy to find that nobody looked at her askance when she stated her assumed name, and there was no mention of Mr. Darcy. Instead, they treated her deferentially, like any spoilt young lady of Mayfair, and assured her that she had ample credit. When they returned to the farmhouse, the carriage was full of packages, which James brought in. He seemed at ease and happy, as if to say that _this_ is what he had expected when he signed on for the position.

Darcy arrived shortly after supper. He looked delighted to see her and complimented her on her new gown and other purchases.

"I always imagined you in such a dress," he said, nuzzling her neck. They were upstairs in her dressing room, where she had taken him to show him her purchases.

"I thought of you when I purchased it," she said. It was a simple silk dress in a beautiful shade of blue, the same shade as the wild bluebells that Darcy had admired on their walk. The dressmaker had been able to make it up for her immediately, and she and James had called for it on their way out of Town.

"Did you?" he said happily. His hands explored her person, lingering at intervals. "Elizabeth … I could not stop thinking of you all day."

"No?" she murmured.

"No. I had meeting after meeting, dealing with dry estate matters, and some dreadful luncheon of my aunt's, then at the House to hear the debate on the enclosure bills. But all day, I kept thinking of you. Your beautiful eyes … your dark cloud of hair … the softness of your skin … your perfect, perfect breasts …" He pulled down the bodice of her gown and kissed her there, then ran his thumb in a circle over her nipple, lightly, causing her to squirm and then shiver. "I cannot wait any longer …"

"Two hours?" she teased.

He laughed. "It has been soaking in my pocket all day. I kept hoping for a cancellation of a meeting so I could run out to see you."

"It is a good thing you did not, as I was in Town shopping all day."

"If I had known, we could have met at my townhouse … "

"And scandalized all your servants?" she said lightly. But she felt a small stab of alarm. She had told him she could not be seen with him in public to avoid disgracing her sister Jane, but had not told him that Sir Henry would visit any repercussions for family scandal on his wife, as he had done when Lydia ran away. Would Darcy take her warning lightly?

"You are right, it is a stupid idea. Thank god you are not far."

He carried her to the bed and made love to her there. For the first time, Elizabeth enjoyed all of it. She noticed the pain had dwindled to discomfort the last few times, and she wondered if it helped that she no longer resented him for curtailing her freedom and felt more at ease in his company.

Afterwards, they lied together on the bed, her back tucked against him, her head under his chin. It was much earlier than usual for them to be abed and the sun shone through the tall windows to cast diffuse golden rays across their bodies. Elizabeth's eyes drooped with contentment.

"What is this?" he asked, tracing a line across her lower back.

She froze, her eyes flying open. She had forgotten that she bore scars of whip marks across her back. There were not many and they were old and faded, Mr. Sandys's punishment abating as Elizabeth and her sisters grew older and wiser and outwardly more compliant. Mindful of the need to protect his reputation, he had also been supportive of their efforts to prevent scarring by the use of judicious salves. But there were still three that had cut so deeply they were apparent to this day.

Her mind raced, considering what would be most believable. Finally, she opted for a facsimile of the truth, which she had learnt over time was often the best lie.

She turned to face him. "Oh! That is from punishment I received as a child, when I was very naughty. Were you so good that you were never caned?" she teased.

Darcy frowned. "Certainly I was caned. Everybody was at some time at Eton. But it was never so bad that we bore marks from it."

She pouted. "I have delicate skin. Everything showed."

"Yes, but -"

She cuddled up to him. "Do you think it ugly?"

"No! No, of course not."

"I think you must think it is ugly."

"Elizabeth." He lifted her head and cupped her face in his hands, making her look at him. He said, earnestly and with emphasis, "Nothing about you is ugly, or ever can be."

She blinked, a little surprised and moved by his emotion. After a moment, she said awkwardly, "Thank you."

She cuddled up to him again, burrowing her head into his chest to hide her face and listened to the slow, steady rhythm of his heart. She felt confused; _he_ confused her. She was not sure that she liked it.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. Despite his semi-retirement from the front lines of politics, the 4th Earl Fitzwilliam (1748-1833) remained one of the most influential men in the Whig party and one of the wealthiest men in England with an income of well over a hundred thousand pounds a year in this period.

2\. The Abolition of the Slave Trade Act 1807 passed on March 25, 1807, advanced by Evangelicals and ardently supported by Foxite Whigs and most of the House of Commons. Although Lord Fitzwilliam's son, Viscount Milton, then an MP for Yorkshire, voted in favour of the bill in the Commons, Lord Fitzwilliam himself declined to take a position in the Lords over concerns of its impact on the West India interests of certain peers.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	7. Chapter 7 - More Spring Idylls

**CHAPTER 7 - MORE SPRING IDYLLS**

That spring was a wet one, one of the coldest on record, and farmers sowed their fields late and shook their heads over their stunted seedlings. But to Elizabeth, it was a wonderful spring, keen and bracing and alive.

She spent her days exploring the countryside as she had when she was a child at Longbourn and nobody had thought to curtail her freedom. Sometimes Darcy came by the farmhouse when she was out, and then he would ride out with his footman to look for her. If she was ready to return, he would give her a hand up behind him and they would ride back together. Otherwise, he would give the reins to his footman and proceed with her on foot.

On the coldest days, when few people were out who did not have to be, they would walk to Kensington Gardens about a mile away. James would meet them there with the carriage and a picnic lunch and they would eat on a blanket in the damp grass, looking out at the spires of Westminster Abbey breaking through the mist in the distance. Then he would tell her about the debates in the House of Lords and the House of Commons that had occurred that week. He had family and friends in both places, and occasionally dropped in on Whig councils at Holland House, Lord Holland's estate in Kensington not far from the farmhouse.

Elizabeth loved hearing his stories, filled with names and people who were known throughout the nation, but offering an insider's view of their lives and struggles. Through the Fitzwilliams he was related by marriage to the leading Whig families of the land, dukes and marquesses and earls, and by friendship and influence to the throne itself.

He told her that his own family had not had a title since the Darcy barony had been attainted over two centuries ago for the treason of offering shelter to two Catholic priests, and that it was a family tradition that they would neither seek nor accept such ornaments. _Sola nobilitas virtus_ was their motto; _Virtue is the only nobility_. They were first among the commoners in the county of Derbyshire and proud to remain so. When he said this, his face took on the air of haughty pride she had observed in him so often, but this time Elizabeth liked it.

Jane was also well. Elizabeth wrote once every week and received a reply in about the same interval, both sisters minimizing the frequency to allay suspicion. Despite this, Elizabeth often had James drive down her street and she frequently invited the flower seller, Susan, for a carriage ride so she could receive what news that could be had.

It was from Susan that she learnt that Jane was likely with child; it would be her fourth time. Elizabeth confirmed it herself when she caught a glimpse of Jane one day stepping out of her carriage awkwardly and saw the thickening of her waist.

Jane did not write of it of her own volition, but she did admit it when taxed. Unlike Elizabeth, she saw only good in the situation.

 _Dearest L,_

 _I beg that you not fear for me. Sir H was so pleased when the physician told him the news; Dr. - said he had never seen a man more so! Sir H came to me directly and called me his dear little wife and made such heartfelt apologies that I could not doubt him. He said he would give up his evil habits and stay home more. I cannot tell you how happy it made me to hear his words and receive his affection._

 _I am convinced that the fault must have been as much mine as his. He told me that sometimes he felt that I judged him and it made him so angry he had to lash out. It is true that I have not been as accepting as I might have been. We have both prayed that I would be more forgiving and that he would be stronger. Darling, I understand your anger, but hope that you too can find it in your heart to forgive. Your loving sister,_

 _J_

This letter did little to allay Elizabeth's anxiety. Nevertheless, it did seem that Sir Henry had suffered reform of a sort, likely linked to his fear that his chance at an heir was dwindling. Susan reported to her that he filled the house with flowers and presents for his wife and had told the servants that they would all receive large bonuses if the child was a son. Lady Blemmell herself seemed more happy and glowing every time Susan saw her. Despite her misgivings, Elizabeth was forced to put her fears aside.

She now spent a large portion of her day reading. A few days after Darcy had brought her the first armload of books, his carriage arrived to drop off another two boxes full. They were from the family library at Pemberley, he told her later. Again, the selection was broad, from plays and novels and poetry to sermons and lectures and philosophical treatises.

He had also been as good as his word in subscribing her to the _Morning Chronicle_. In addition, he had ordered the Tory-friendly _Times_ , Cobbett's _Political Register_ , the Radical-leaning _Edinburgh Review_ and a number of evening newspapers and magazines. These he read and discussed with her, staying later and later in the mornings to do so. The books he would talk about with her once she read them, as he had read most of them before. His own reading seemed to consist primarily of scientific literature, of chemistry and botany and agriculture.

"Why do you read such dry stuff?" she teased him one day. They were lying together on the sofa, Elizabeth tucked into Darcy's side, both of them with books in their hands. There was less activity now in Town and Parliament as summer approached and he had started spending most of the day with her at the farmhouse.

He lifted his reading glasses onto his head to look at her and smiled. "It is not dry at all, Elizabeth. We are living in an incredible era, seeing the fastest advancement in human knowledge in mankind's history."

"Oh, really? Such as what?"

"Well, for example, there is a scheme afoot to light all of London with gas light. The company was just granted the charter this spring and the engineers have given several demonstrations at the Royal Society. Can you imagine being able to walk about London at night as one does in the day?"

She smiled at his enthusiasm. "My goodness!" was all she said, but she said it so charmingly that he was forced to kiss her.

She left him on the sofa to gather some flowers from the garden for supper since he intended to stay. When she returned, she saw he had fallen asleep with the book on his face.

"It is not such exciting reading then," she laughed, her hands on her hips as she contemplated his long, sleeping form. She leant over and carefully lifted the book away, placing it on the table. She was about to take the flowers to the kitchen when she caught sight of his face in repose and paused.

Why had she once thought his face unpleasant in its pride? _He has a right to be proud_ , Charlotte had told her after they met him for the first time, and now that she knew him better, she was perforce in agreement. But right now, with him sleeping in glasses and a smile on his lips, he did not look proud and intimidating at all, only boyish and owlish and sweet. She sat down beside him and leant over and kissed him.

His eyes opened and he smiled. "Hello, love."

She smiled back. "You were so handsome I had to wake you with a kiss."

"I was dreaming of you. But 'dear love, for nothing less than thee, would I have broke this happy dream.' "

" ' It was a theme for reason, much too strong for fantasy'?" she quoted back to him. It was a poem by John Donne, which they had read together sitting in the garden in the evening, watching the fireflies and the stars. "How wonderful to be someone's dream come true!"

"Yes, only take care you do not leave as she did, and leave him with neither dream nor reality," he warned.

She laughed and said, over her shoulder, "I must, to put these flowers in water. But you will see me again soon."

He sat up to watch her disappear into the kitchen, then stretched himself out on the couch again with a smile.

* * *

Brooks's Club at the corner of St. James Street was quiet, as befit the early hour. Thus, Darcy's attempt to pass through its pillared doors without being pulled into the usual vortex of game play or club gossip was almost successful, until he heard his name hailed from the direction of the coffee room.

Entering, he saw Colonel Fitzwilliam lounging at a table with a man who looked to be a few years older. He recognized him by sight as the Marquess of Blake, son and heir to the Duke of Lyle. He was a wealthy and fashionable man about town, known for his high style of living.

"Where have you been, Darcy? We see nothing of you," said Colonel Fitzwilliam as the men shook hands and re-seated themselves.

"Here in Town still. You were gone, I heard."

"For two weeks, up north, but I have been back for a week." After being injured in the retreat to La Coruna, Colonel Fitzwilliam had retired to civilian life, but still worked for the War Office in procurement, which required travel to drum up the needed supplies for army and navy.

They discussed business and racing and whether Lord Liverpool would be able to hold onto power in the wake of Spencer Perceval's assassination. Then the talk returned to Darcy's whereabouts.

"What have you been up to, Darcy?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked. "I was beginning to think you had left Town."

Darcy shrugged, but Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. "Oh, I forgot. How is Elizabeth?"

"She is well, thank you."

"Who is Elizabeth?" Lord Blake inquired.

"Darcy's mistress."

"You have a mistress, Darcy?" Lord Blake asked with interest. "I had heard that you did not indulge in such things. Is she someone I might know?"

"I doubt it," he said reluctantly. "She is a young widow, from Hertfordshire."

"Very pretty, Blake," Colonel Fitzwilliam said. "Not one-and-twenty, and a smart, sassy tongue when she gets her blood up."

"I do enjoy a woman of spirit," Lord Blake smiled, a gleam appearing in his eye. "La Giacinta is beginning to wear on my nerves, always wanting to talk of love and other nonsense. A man can only take so much. When do we meet this little spitfire, Darcy?"

"We prefer to avoid the public eye," said Darcy with haughty dignity.

"Still attempting to hold onto her reputation, is she?" said Lord Blake. "What do you do, slip into her flat when the watchmen have gone to bed? Or do you have her holed up in one of the farmhouses in Kensington specially suited for the purpose?"

Darcy coloured in vexation as his cousin let out a bark of laughter.

"No offence, Darcy," Lord Blake grinned maliciously, enjoying his discomfiture. "But it is a mistake to keep them locked up. They only tire of you sooner. If you like this one, I suggest you take her out, show her a good time."

He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out an ivory card case, then helped himself to a pen and inkwell from the club. After a few minutes of pen scratching, he handed Darcy a card.

"There you go. I am having a private supper party this Friday with Giacinta. Why do you not come and bring Elizabeth? Giacinta will give a concert. That is one thing I will give her; she can sing like an angel."

He rose and took his leave of Darcy and the Colonel.

Left alone with his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam lifted one eyebrow. "You know what _I_ think."

"What you think has been uniformly wrong," Darcy informed him.

"Then I am overdue to be right," he smiled. "Besides, I am thinking of Elizabeth as well. She does not strike me as a woman who would be content to spend all her time waiting upon your desires."

No, Darcy did not think that either. When he left the club, his pocket held Lord Blake's card and his head was full of thoughts of Elizabeth. This time, they were not quite so pleasing.

* * *

 **RANDOM NOTES:**

1\. Darcy and Elizabeth quote from John Donne's The Dream.

2\. The Gas Light & Coke Company, predecessor to British PLC, was incorporated by Royal Charter on April 30, 1812, and its plan was to install gas light lamps throughout London.

3\. The British Prime Minister at the time, Spencer Perceval, was assassinated on May 11, 1812. Lord Liverpool succeeded him to the premiership, although the government dissolved within months.

4\. Lord Holland, aka Henry Fox, 3rd Baron Holland, was the nephew of the great Whig politician Charles James Fox. He considered it his life's work to carry on Fox's ideals, and following the death of the brilliant political hostess Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, the headquarters of the Foxite Whigs moved from Devonshire House in London to Holland House just outside London in Kensington, where it remained for the first quarter of the Nineteenth Century.

5\. The Abolition of the Slave Trade Act 1807 passed on March 25, 1807, advanced by Evangelicals and ardently supported by Foxite Whigs and most of the House of Commons. Although the Earl Fitzwilliam's son, Viscount Milton, then an MP for Yorkshire, voted in favour of the bill in the Commons, Lord Fitzwilliam himself declined to take a position in the Lords over concerns of its impact on the West India interests of certain peers.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	8. Chapter 8 - A Party

**CHAPTER 8 - A PARTY**

It was two days before Darcy asked Elizabeth if she wished to attend Lord Blake's party. At her look of surprise, he hastened to explain: it was a private supper party; Colonel Fitzwilliam had secured the guest list for her review; and Signora Arati would be giving a concert.

"The opera singer?" Elizabeth asked with interest. Signora Giacinta Arati had taken London by storm when she arrived on the scene not three years earlier. The Gardiners had seen her perform once and raved about her, but Elizabeth had never hoped to have such a privilege. Mr. Sandys did not approve of theatre and opera.

"Yes, she is Lord Blake's mistress," Darcy replied.

She thought about it, then asked to see the guest list. She had never met any of them. Beyond what Mr. Sandys could make of the patronage of Sir Henry's friends, Sir Henry's connexion to their family had not thrown the other girls into the paths of other rich men. The baronet had no wish to draw further attention to his wife's low origins and Jane, for entirely different reasons, was equally eager to keep her sisters far away from Blemmell House and her husband.

It was a risk, surely, but the idea of seeing the great Arati was very tempting. And there were other names on the guest list that she recognized as well from the newspapers she now read avidly: theatre professionals, painters, men of Parliament.

"Could we go separately?" she asked.

"You mean arrive in separate carriages? As if we do not know each other?"

"Yes. I could be Lord Blake's friend, perhaps, if he does not mind? That way, even if I am recognized, they will not connect me to you."

She realized how much she was asking even as she asked it. It was not only the presumption of claiming an acquaintance with a marquess that she did not have, but the denial of her relationship with Darcy. Men liked to show off their mistresses, she knew; it was one of the reasons they had them.

"I suppose so," said Darcy slowly. "I have already told him you are my mistress, however."

"Oh!" After a pause, she added, "It is your right. I did not ask for secrecy in our agreement, only anonymity."

"I will ask him to keep it quiet," Darcy said. "If he can promise me that, would you like to go?"

She thought about it, but she could not see any great risk. Nobody would recognize her, and if people spoke of her, it would be under an assumed name with no particular connection to Darcy.

"Yes, I would like to go," she said.

* * *

Darcy wrote Lord Blake, who informed him that he had told no one but Signora Arati of the relationship and pledged discretion on behalf of them both. A little late in the day, Darcy also informed Colonel Fitzwilliam that his relationship with Elizabeth was to remain henceforth a purely private affair. Colonel Fitzwilliam agreed good-naturedly. Thus, Elizabeth was to attend the party simply as Mrs. Smith, a young widow.

Elizabeth did not see Darcy before the party. He left early in the morning, saying he had to escort his sister and some young cousins to see the premier of important Eastern artifacts newly acquired by the British Museum, but he gave her careful directions and told her he would see her at the party.

That evening, she began dressing early, and was ready well before the appointed hour for departure.

"You look beautiful, my dear. Mr. Darcy will be well pleased," Mrs. Wortley said with a smile of approval for Dorothy, who beamed at this praise of her handiwork.

Elizabeth did think she looked pretty. The gown was tasteful but more daring than she was used to, low in the front with short, slashed sleeves that bared her arms nearly to the shoulder. She wore Mr. Darcy's emeralds and long opera gloves with it.

The address was for a townhouse in Marylebone. It was not large, but it was handsome, of well-dressed stone, and it appeared that Signora Arati had the entire house and not only a storey or apartment within it.

Lord Blake and Signora Arati received their guests in the anteroom to the drawing room on the first storey. The Marquess was a distinguished-looking man, a little taller than average, with aristocratic features and an intelligent, amused expression. Signora Arati was as beautiful even as newspaper reports proclaimed her to be, with a tall, statuesque figure, thick golden-brown hair and melting brown eyes.

"Welcome, Mrs. Smith," Lord Blake said when her name was announced.

Elizabeth curtsied. "Lord Blake."

He stepped closer and took her hand, speaking low. "I understand we are good friends."

She blushed and spoke equally low. "Yes. I am sorry to impose, your lordship."

He smiled and said in a whisper, "Not at all. I could not be more pleased. But could you perhaps remind me of the origin of our friendship?"

She whispered back, "You were boyhood friends with my husband, a gentleman who lived in your neighbourhood."

"Of course, of course! Smith was an excellent swimmer but a dreadful shot, and had a terrible habit of spooning his soup toward himself. I recall perfectly now. And since we are such good friends, I may call you Elizabeth, may I not?"

This last was said with a sly smile, which caused Elizabeth to dimple. "I think that is a fit penalty for my impertinence."

"Good, good!" he said at his normal volume. "In that case, welcome, _Elizabeth_. I am so glad we could have you here at last. And here is Giacinta."

The opera singer greeted her with a dazzling if somewhat empty smile and murmured a conventional greeting, then turned to the next guest.

Elizabeth stepped into the ornate drawing room filled with painted frescoes and giltwood sofas and chaises. She saw that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy were already present. The former occupied a sofa in the centre of the room, flirting tenderly with a trio of young women who looked to be sisters. The latter was standing by the unlit fireplace in earnest conversation with a distinguished older man while a pretty young woman stood by, apparently listening with avid attention. When Darcy saw her, he gave her a small smile, which she now recognized was his way of telling her he thought she looked lovely. Then he returned his attention to his companions before they could notice any lapse.

A footman came with champagne for her and she took it and sipped it slowly, debating what to do next. In her world, one required an introduction to begin a conversation. Did the same rule apply here? And what should she do when she could not admit the acquaintance of the only two people she knew, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam? Just as she saw Darcy mark her plight and begin to extricate himself, a voice sounded at her elbow.

"Good evening."

She turned and saw an elderly bald man with a thin, lined face. He bowed and introduced himself. "Mr. Northcote."

She returned his bow. "The celebrated painter?"

Mr. Northcote smiled, easing some of the lines around his mouth. "What a lovely way to be greeted. Yes, I am he, since I believe there are no other Northcotes who are members of the Academy. And you are -?"

"Mrs. Smith, sir. Lord Blake was my late husband's boyhood friend."

"Ah, I see. That explains it."

She did not ask what it explained. Her incongruity must be obvious. "He is your friend as well?"

"My friend, certainly. But perhaps more accurately, my patron. Lord Blake has been generous with his support. His family are great collectors of art and beauty and Lord Blake seeks to surround himself with _objets d'art_ \- both animate and inanimate."

"He has succeeded, if present company and these rooms are any indication. I venture to say we are surrounded by decoration and objects." Her eye roamed the oppressively ornamented room.

Mr. Northcote smirked. "Ah, no. This is to Signora Arati's taste. Our mutual friend has a slightly nicer sensibility. Quite elegant, in fact."

"Then I am sure I would approve," she smiled.

Mr. Northcote looked into her eyes earnestly, then said, "You face looks very _alive_ , my dear. I was thinking that I would like to paint it."

"I doubt I could afford your fees, sir."

"Ah. No, in fact what I had in mind was the other way around. I was wondering if you would be willing to sit for me. In a pose of my choosing."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise and Mr. Northcote added, courteously, "I mean no insult. I do not assume you are the type of woman who would be willing to be an artist's model, but I have been at this long enough to learn that I would rather ask than not. Your offence would not pain me nearly as much as the thought of a picture that might have been but was not."

She shook her head. "I do not take offence, but I must decline your request."

"It is not scandalous, what I have in mind. I have a great desire to attempt a revival of the classics. _Atalanta swiftly running_ \- that is what I was thought of when I saw you. A sense of dynamism, at last unfettered. That sort of thing. You would be mostly clothed. I am not that kind of painter."

Elizabeth shook her head again, smiling this time. "Alas, it is not possible. I would not be comfortable having any likeness of mine exhibited for public display. But should I ever be in position to commission a private portrait, your name would be among the first I would think consider."

He was disappointed, but inclined his head in acceptance and they spoke of other subjects. He introduced her to another young lady in the room of about her own age and left them to talk. The girl, slender and sprightly with china-blue eyes, said her name was Miss Lewis. She was a ballet dancer with one of the larger companies and had come with the Honourable Mr. Yorke, an MP from the opposition benches. She pointed him out, a middle-aged man with stooped shoulders and a bald spot.

Miss Lewis was obviously impressed at the company she found herself in. She prattled on about Signora Arati's house, the great connections of the men she had already met at the party, and the jewels and gowns of the women fortunate enough to have secured wealthy patrons. Elizabeth listened with half her attention, the other looking around the room at the various guests. There were about thirty or forty people present, a mix of both sexes. The men were of various ages; all but a handful of the women were young and lovely and fashionably dressed. They giggled softly and shot coy glances at the men and fluttered their fans. There were now two of them around Darcy. Wryly Elizabeth wondered if he had thought her attempts at flirtation had been clumsy and ridiculous.

"He is very tall and handsome, is he not?" Miss Lewis giggled.

"I do not know who you mean?"

"The man you are looking at, of course! The one we have _all_ been looking at. Mr. Darcy. We wonder who he is here for."

"Perhaps he is here to hear Signora Arati?"

"Not likely!" Miss Lewis scoffed. "He can see _her_ anytime he likes. He is the nephew of the Earl Fitzwilliam. They have one of the best opera boxes and the Countess is a great patron. She would give any of _them_ a private concert whenever they wish."

"Oh?"

"His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, comes regularly, but this is the first time anyone has seen _him_ here. They say he is quite wealthy. Nothing like the Fitzwilliams, but none of _them_ but the Colonel would ever be found at a party like this. But I heard Mr. Darcy only has his sister to look after and _she_ has a fortune as well, so his money is entirely at his disposal with no one to tell him how to spend it."

"An ideal man to have a mistress," Elizabeth smiled impishly.

"Isn't he? Imagine if he was like his cousin, but looked like that!"

"You approve of Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"Oh! Yes." Miss Lewis giggled again. "We all love him. He never keeps any lady long, but he treats them ever so well when he has them. My friend had six weeks with him last year, and one of the principal dancers was with him for nearly three months the year before. They both say they never had so much fun. My friend was terribly disappointed when it ended, but he gave her _such_ a nice present at the end that she could not really complain. He introduced her to her next patron as well. Oh! Look, here he comes now."

Colonel Fitzwilliam had made his way over to them, a footman in tow.

"Good evening, ladies. May we refresh your champagne?"

He gestured to the glasses on the tray and they exchanged their empty glasses for full ones. The Colonel drained one and helped himself to another, dismissed the footman with a nod, then smiled at both young women.

"I could not help but notice you looking in my direction. Tell me truly. You were admiring my figure, were you not?"

"Oh! Colonel Fitzwilliam!" Miss Lewis giggled.

"It is the new coat. It shows off my manly shoulders to great advantage." He struck the heroic pose, chin high and turned to the side, his hand tucked into his waistcoat.

"Oh, you!"

Miss Lewis giggled some more and blushed. Seeing that he would receive no further sense from that quarter, Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to Elizabeth. "Miss Lewis, I do not believe I have met your friend. Will you introduce us?"

"Oh! Of course. This is Miss … I am sorry, I forgot your name. What was it again?"

"Mrs. Smith."

"Oh! Yes, Mrs. Smith. Colonel Fitzwilliam, this is Mrs. Smith." She started, then blurted, "Are you actually married?"

"I was married. I am a widow now."

"Oh! So sorry!" She giggled.

"Enchanté, Mrs. Smith."

"Likewise, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Miss Lewis informs me that you are a frequent guest of Lord Blake's and know a number of her friends intimately?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned unabashedly at her. He had not missed the stress on the last word. "It seems you have discovered my secret, Mrs. Smith. Does this defect in my character trouble you?"

"I hardly think I am in a position to judge that," she replied and he gave her an appreciative nod.

"No, we are no longer in the land of fragile sensibilities and fainting ladies, are we?"

"It is curious," she said with an arch smile. "I was once told by a gentleman in a similar position to you that younger sons of earls must be accustomed to self-denial and dependence. I wonder, is this the type of self-denial the gentleman had in mind?"

"I think that is safe as a general proposition regarding almost any man of means, regardless of his protestations to the contrary. Does it shock you?" He grinned.

She shook her head at him. "Not at all. Thank you for the confirmation."

"Good evening."

Elizabeth looked up at the familiar deep voice. Colonel Fitzwilliam introduced Darcy. Miss Lewis, predictably, giggled.

"You are enjoying yourselves?" Darcy inquired, looking at Elizabeth.

"Yes, indeed. I am receiving quite an education in the world." She arched one eyebrow expressively at Colonel Fitzwilliam and took a sip of her champagne.

Miss Lewis's response was lengthier if less substantive. Her excessive delight at being tete-a-tete with two of the most attractive men in the room was clear. She did not have long to monopolize the Colonel and Darcy's attentions, however, as they were soon joined by a number of other young women. Colonel Fitzwilliam encouraged the chatter with his teasing, while Darcy said little, his attention focused on Elizabeth. It did not go unnoticed.

"I think you have made a conquest, Mrs. Smith," one of the women whispered to her. She was pretty with sharp features. "Mr. Darcy cannot take his eyes off you."

Elizabeth laughed a little nervously at the second person to connect her with Darcy. "You must be mistaken. He looks only to criticize, I am sure."

She turned her attention to other gentlemen who had joined their group. Eventually, they broke off into their own group, then were joined by others. The conversation turned into a spirited debate between the merits of Signora Arati and Angelica Catalani, an opera singer famous for the remarkable range of her voice.

"Arati cannot hope to reach that high register," said one of the women.

"Yet God somehow forgot to place a heart within reasonable proximity of Catalani's divine larynx," retorted one of the men.

"Is it Arati's divine voice that you admire or her divine form?" the woman asked sceptically.

"I believe heaven may be accessed from either quarter," the man quipped, and the group laughed.

The supper gong sounded and the couple began to pair off to enter the dining room. Elizabeth saw Darcy look her way, but mindful of the other ladies' suspicions, she avoided his eye. A middle-aged gentleman offered her his arm and they entered the dining room near the tail of the crowd.

On the long table, elaborate candelabras rose above the glittering crystal and gleaming plate. A small army of footmen hurried hither and thither to assist the guests to their seats.

She sat next to a portly Italian in his forties who told her he was a singer who worked with Signora Arati. Another man on her right informed her he was a hunting associate of Lord Blake's. The latter, when he was not staring at her bosom, spent most of the supper regaling her with stories of his exploits in the chase and his analysis of the leading hunts. She learnt that Lord Fitzwilliam's big-boned foxhounds had the highest mettle, but the Duke of Rutland's pack had superior noses. Darcy, who sat across the table and a little ways down from her, watched her with a serious expression. Once, she sent him a look of mute appeal and rolled her eyes, whereupon his face broke into a smile.

Signora Arati performed after the supper, accompanied on the pianoforte by the Italian who had sat next to Elizabeth. Her voice matched her face, heartbreaking in its beauty, and Elizabeth listened with wonder and enjoyment. After Signora Arati was a pair of professional dancers, who performed a risque gavotte and waltz. Lastly, there were sweets and coffee and a selection of French brandies and amber ports. The girl beside her made for the dining room, where pyramids of ices, jellies, exotic fruits and sweetmeats were piled high. To Elizabeth's surprise, Lord Blake immediately claimed her chair, sitting down with a sigh.

"At last I have an opportunity to speak to you."

"I did not realize I have been such a will o' the wisp in these two rooms," she smiled.

"Not you, Elizabeth, but a host has many duties."

"You and Signora Arati do it well. I have never seen such luxury and lavishness."

"No? Well, a man has a reputation to maintain if he wishes to be in line for the greatest prizes."

"Signora Arati?"

"Yes. What do you think of her, Elizabeth?"

"She is remarkable. It is not only her voice, but how she is able to express so much with it. She is truly without equal," Elizabeth said warmly.

"I remember the first moment I saw her and heard her sing," he sighed. "I was mad for her. I thought I would die if I could not have her. When my father, the Duke, approved my making her an offer, and then she accepted, I believed I was the happiest of men who walked the earth. But that was over two years ago."

Elizabeth felt a pang. She had not missed that Lord Blake spoke of the past. They both looked at Signora Arati, surrounded by admirers around the pianoforte.

"Even her?" Elizabeth murmured.

"Pardon?"

She smiled at him teasingly. "I was merely reflecting on the precarious state of men's feelings. Colonel Fitzwilliam advised me that they are ephemeral by nature. What do you say to that, Lord Blake?"

He gave her a warm smile, full of charm, and moved his chair closer to her. "I am neither such a flirt nor a breaker of hearts as Fitz. But there is some truth to that, perhaps. As we have the more ardent feelings, it follows that they may fade the sooner."

She nodded. All of the conduct manuals that had formed her reading since the advent of Mr. Sandys in her life had preached the same gospel. Men might burn with a white-hot flame, but a woman must keep her emotions dampened lest they consume her. It was good to receive Lord Blake's reminder.

"Do you love Darcy, Elizabeth?"

She shied at such a personal question. "What is love?" she asked lightly.

"An answer in and of itself." He chuckled, then added, with a look of sympathy, "You are wise to feel so."

"Am I?" She looked at Darcy, tall and elegant by the fireplace. She thought he had been looking at her, but when their eyes met, he withdrew his gaze and bent his head to the stunning blonde woman standing next to him. She turned her eyes back to Lord Blake. "I am not a fool, Lord Blake. I know a situation such as mine is not designed to last and I shall know better than to repine when it is done."

He flashed her a smile. "Good, good. Then you shall do very well. And Darcy is by no means a small conquest, even without a title. You are his first and, according to Fitz, the only woman he has dallied with since becoming the master of his estate. You will have a name for yourself whenever you are prepared to enjoy it. The woman who broke Darcy."

She shook her head, smiling to herself. He put his arm on the back of her chair and leant closer, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper.

"I have had inquiries about you already, you know."

"Have you?" she murmured.

"You will not ask who?" he said.

"I am committed for the time being." She smiled.

"Ah, yes. Six months, Fitz said."

That had been the duration in her mind as well, but somehow it was not so pleasing hearing another express it as such a fixed term.

"Do not worry," he said. "I have no desire to interfere with such tender arrangements. Nor do I wish to invade another man's property. But perhaps when the time draws nearer, you will think of this conversation. I may be able to offer you something as well." He touched her shoulder with his hand, a light caress.

She looked up at him, startled. "Signora Arati?"

"Need not know."

She frowned, a little angrily. "Lord Blake, if your feelings are as they are, I wonder that you do not release Signora Arati. It does not appear that she would suffer from any lack of attention on your part." She indicated the great singer, who was now seated at the pianoforte smiling up at six men at once, all of whom hung onto her every word.

He shrugged and sat back, away from her again, not bothering to look at Signora Arati. "I am not quite done with her. Whatever my feelings, she is still the greatest ornament London has to offer. And my father purchased this townhouse outright for her. He would expect more than two years for such a large investment."

"Do _her_ feelings mean nothing to you?"

He smiled cynically and shrugged. "They will no doubt recover when she finds another rich, foolish nobleman. If one cannot be duchess, then perhaps being countess may do."

"Would you have married her?" she asked in surprise.

"At the outset? Yes, I think so, if she had been willing to brave my father's disfavour for my sake. But thankfully she was not and the madness passed."

He looked at her face, then smiled. "Do not look so full of pity, Elizabeth. It was undoubtedly for the best. There are far too many weak-willed heirs who have been the ruin of their houses by adulterating their noble blood with that of common, unchaste women. I am glad not to be one of them."

He changed the subject and they spoke of pleasantries for a few minutes before he moved on to speak to other guests. Elizabeth was thoughtful after he left. She spoke to a few more people, then looked around for Darcy, hoping to communicate some signal to him that she wished to leave. She could find him nowhere in the main rooms, however. At last, she was able to achieve a moment alone with Colonel Fitzwilliam and asked him if he knew where Darcy had gone.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked surprised and denied knowing anything of his whereabouts. He buttonholed a footman.

"He left some time ago, sir," the man said respectfully. "He seemed agitated and demanded his carriage be brought around immediately. Perhaps there was an emergency of some kind?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired further as to whether Darcy had received any urgent messages during the party.

"Not that I am aware of, sir."

In the end, Elizabeth decided to go home and hope that Darcy was there or had sent a message for her.

Sitting in the dark carriage on the way out to Kensington, she thought about Darcy and why he would leave so precipitously, without a word, a signal even. She remembered him standing by the mantel, a few feet from her. She had tried to catch his eye a number of times while speaking to Lord Blake, but after that first time, she had been unsuccessful. Every time she had looked at him, he had turned his head away. But then Lord Blake had propositioned her and she had had to focus all of her attention on her conversation with _him_. The next time she looked up, Darcy was no longer in his place.

She had looked forward to speaking to him about the party and everything she had seen and experienced that night. She was used to seeing him every day for much of the day now, and she had not seen him at all since the early morning of the previous day. She had assumed that he would return to the farmhouse with her. But what if he did not? Would she have to wait a whole other day before she was able to see him again?

She thought again of how he had withdrawn his eye from hers - coldly, it seemed. And then he had refused to meet her gaze again. Was he angry with her? For what? Did he think she was flirting with Lord Blake, in the middle of a crowded room surrounded by other guests? They had only been talking. Had he not spent the entire evening talking with one attractive woman after another? Even Signora Arati had spared him a few moments alone, seeking him out immediately after supper. And that last woman had been particularly pretty.

What would she do if he was not at the farmhouse when she returned? What if he did not come that day? Or the night even? What if he stayed away for longer? She needed to speak to him; she could not wait that long.

Her fear was followed by anger. It was unfair. If he wanted her, then all he had to do was come to the farmhouse, where he knew she would be waiting for him - if not every minute, at least every evening. But if _she_ wanted _him_ , what could she do? She could not send a message to his townhouse; she did not even know the address. All she could do was wait and hope that his wishes coincided with hers. Otherwise, she was powerless.

By the time the carriage approached the turnoff to the farmhouse, she was gripping her reticule in anxiety. What if he was not there?

When the barouche-landau pulled into the clearing and she saw his coach there, she gasped in relief and realized she had been holding her breath. She flung open the carriage door before it was fully stopped, not waiting for James, then jumped out as soon as the carriage wheels stopped rolling and slammed the door behind her. It caught the edge of her gown. Impatiently, she wrestled with the door. James had jumped down hastily to assist her, but she had managed to wrench the door open by then to free herself. A corner of her gown tore in the process, but she did not care. She hurried into the house.

Mrs. Wortley and Dorothy did not greet her at the door as she would have expected. Nobody did. There was only one other person in the room, and he was standing in front of the fire at the fireplace, his back to her, his arms folded across it. She saw the tension in his haughty bearing, the rigid set of his shoulders.

He did not turn around immediately. Only after she had disposed of her wrap and stepped toward him did he turn and look at her. He looked furious.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. James Northcote (1746-1831) was a member of the Royal Academy from 1786 and a prolific and successful portrait painter.

2\. Angelica Catalani (1780-1849) was the queen of London opera during her sojourn there from 1806 to 1813. She had a range of three octaves and an enormously powerful, flexible voice. Some critics claimed she lacked taste and feeling, and the "divine larynx" comment is paraphrased from a critique by Marie-Henri Beyle, a 19th Century French writer known as "Stendahl."

3\. The Duke of Rutland and the Earl Fitzwilliam were leading hunting and racing peers. Their foxhound packs were sought for breeding purposes throughout England.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	9. Chapter 9 - An Altercation

**CHAPTER 9 - AN ALTERCATION**

He was much taller and larger than her, standing at the fireplace. His eyes, dark with anger, bored into her. She made herself keep walking toward him, even though she felt her heart begin to pound in her chest.

"Where have you been?" he demanded when she came to just outside of arm's reach.

"I was at the party. I have just come from it." She spoke quietly, with forced calmness.

"I have been waiting over an hour for you."

"I beg your pardon. If you had expected me to leave with you, I would have expected some kind of signal to make known your departure - not an abrupt disappearance with no word to anyone."

"If you had been paying any attention to me, no signal would have been necessary."

"I was caught in conversation. When next I looked, you had disappeared. I attempted to find you."

"Yes," he spat. "You were highly absorbed in conversation with Lord Blake and in no hurry to get away, apparently. What was he saying to you?"

Her stomach lurched at his question. She had wanted to talk to him about the party, to tell him all about it, but not like this, when he was clenching his jaw so hard she could see the muscles starting out of it. She took a breath to steady herself and clasped her hands in front of her to stop them from shaking. "Nothing of consequence," she lied. "We spoke of the party and the guests and my admiration for Signora Arati."

"He called you 'Elizabeth.' I heard him - everybody heard him. By what right does _Lord Blake_ refer to you by your Christian name?"

"Oh!" She had forgotten. She stammered, "It - it means nothing. He asked and I said he might. Because we were supposed to be good friends, you see."

Darcy began pacing before her. "It means nothing, does it? Do you allow just any man to call you 'Elizabeth'? Who else calls you 'Elizabeth'?"

"Nobody! Only you and Lord Blake. Not even Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"Only me and Lord Blake. We are in a special category, are we? What might that category be for?" His voice was silky with fury.

She spoke defiantly, to hide her fear, "Perhaps it is for arrogant men with unqualified belief in their superiority over all others."

He ignored her insult. "Tell me what you were speaking of."

"I told you - "

"That is a lie. He called you 'Elizabeth' and was whispering in your ear. And then he _touched_ you."

His voice was full of hate. Desperately she tried to make him see sense.

"It happened before I knew what he was about. It meant nothing. It was only once and we were in a room full of people. _You_ saw us. _Everybody_ could see us."

"Yes, everybody could see you, flirting with Lord Blake and allowing him to paw at you. Is that why you wished to go to the party? Is that why you refused to know me?"

"No, of course not - "

"Did you wish to meet a marquess? Did you hope to catch a richer man? Tell me the truth!"

"That _is_ the truth!"

"What did he say to you?"

Elizabeth paled. At the time Lord Blake's proposition had seemed inconsequential, easily dealt with through polite evasion. But Darcy, she could see, was in no state to listen to reason. He was nearly trembling with rage. She would have to step carefully.

She said, mustering her dignity about her, "I do not wish to speak of this now."

It was the wrong answer. She saw his hands clench and the knuckles go white.

"You will tell me what he said," he said, his voice low and menacing as he enunciated each word.

"I said, I do not wish to speak of this - "

"YOU WILL TELL ME WHAT HE SAID!" he thundered.

He slammed his fist down on the mantel, right into the middle of a tray bearing an empty wine decanter and glasses. Elizabeth flinched at the sharp tinkle of crystal as two of the glasses snapped at the stem and then splintered into pieces under the force of his fist. She saw blood well up from his hand, but he appeared not to notice, only shaking his hand free of embedded glass, sending shards and droplets of blood spraying.

"Tell me," he said through clenched teeth.

She raised her chin, though she too was trembling now. "He said he had received inquiries about me."

"What else? Did he say anything about himself?"

"Only that - he might be inquiring as well, once you are done with me."

She saw his chest rise and fall in a jerky breath. "And what did you say?"

"I said I was committed."

She saw his shoulders go down, the tension falling from him like a garment. He looked down at his bleeding hand as if he noticed it for the first time, then looked around for something to stem the flow of blood onto his arm and the carpet. Seeing nothing, he pulled the knots out of his cravat deliberately, then unwound it from his neck and wrapped it around his hand. When he spoke, his voice was full of contempt.

"Good. I need not remind you that you pledged complete fidelity. You will do well to avoid men like Lord Blake if you wish to be paid for your _services_."

His words cut like a lash. She looked at his haughty, sneering face and felt a surge of anger so complete it blotted out her fear.

"I do not know why I should do that," she said cuttingly. "Judging from the style in which he keeps Signora Arati, _he_ has far more to offer than _you_."

He advanced on her, eating up the space between them in a single stride, and seized her wrist in an iron grip. "How _dare_ you," he panted. "How dare you! I loved you and this is how you repay me! You have degraded me, you have led me to defile my family name!"

She met his eyes, her own glittering with fury. "Do not charge me with your own failings. You have degraded yourself. You paid willingly, you partook of your pleasure repeatedly!"

"I made you an honourable offer!" he shouted at her, shaking her by the arm.

She wrenched her arm from his grasp and stepped away from him.

"Honourable offer!" she flung back at him. "Honourable to tell me I was beneath you? Honourable to tell me it was a degradation to you, to your family, to connect yourself to a woman like me? You are determined to degrade yourself with me, it seems! Whether as wife or mistress!"

"It _was_ a degradation! _That_ is now apparent for all to see! _My_ family, connected to a woman who would sell herself to the highest bidder! Connected to a cheap, common _whore!_ "

She looked at him. She realized now that she hated him. She had never hated anybody so much in her life, not Mr. Sandys, not Sir Henry. She had never wanted to hurt someone so much in her life. She spoke as coldly and as insultingly as possible.

"Be thankful I am, as there was no other way I would have allowed _you_ to touch me. If not for your money, you would have been disgusting to me."

This time he swept the entire tray from the mantel, sending the decanter and the remaining unbroken glasses crashing to the floor, where they shattered into a million pieces, spraying glass everywhere. The sound of destruction was glorious. He leapt at her, his fist clenched, but she stood her ground and did not flinch.

"Are you going to strike me?" she screamed triumphantly. "Go ahead then! That is what you want, is it not? That is what all men like you want! You choose women below you and then you blame us for your degradation! You think I am afraid of you? _I will never be afraid of you!_ Go ahead and strike me! Strike me!"

Her voice had risen to a shriek. She heard her last words reverberate through the farmhouse and fall shivering into the silence that filled it.

He had stepped away from her and lowered his fist, observing her with an expression of horror. When he spoke, it was in the coldest, most disdainful voice she had ever heard.

"I am not going to strike you. I am sorry I ever _knew_ you."

She blinked at the shock of his words. Before she could recover, he had picked up his hat and gloves from the low table and hastily departed without a further glance her way. She heard the door shut smoothly behind him. It would have been a relief if he had slammed it, or smashed it down.

She stood among the wreckage of broken glass and blood for what felt like an hour after he left, but which was in reality was only about ten minutes. Mrs. Wortley poked her head out of the kitchen. Her stalwart figure was clad in a nightgown and a bulky dressing gown and a nightcap covered her hair. She looked so anti-climatic that at any other time, Elizabeth would have laughed.

"Is he gone?" Mrs. Wortley inquired.

"Yes, he is gone." She spoke quietly and wiped a tendril of hair from her face. It was wet. When she looked at her hand, she saw it contained a smear of blood and she realized she was covered in glass fragments. Gingerly, she brushed them away.

The housekeeper came out, carrying cleaning implements. Elizabeth's maid, Dorothy, followed her. Mrs. Wortley began sweeping up the glass as Dorothy fussed over Elizabeth. Mrs. Wortley looked at her sadly.

"What did you do to set him off so? Did he catch you with another man?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "He saw me with another man, but we were only talking."

"In your position, it is wise not to even talk."

"I could not help it. He was the host. We only spoke for a few minutes, in the middle of a crowded room. There was nothing for him to be upset about."

Mrs. Wortley brightened. "Oh! Well, perhaps he will be back then."

Elizabeth shut her eyes, remembering the horrible things he had said to her, the things she had said in return. She smiled wanly at both women.

"I do not think he will be back."

* * *

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	10. Chapter 10 - Fallout

**CHAPTER 10 - FALLOUT**

Despite Mrs. Wortley's advice to be patient, Elizabeth packed the next day. It did not take long, but she wished to be ready to go as soon as the message came, to resolve any outstanding legal matters as quickly as possible, then run as far away as possible, as far from _him_ as possible. She would find some other way to keep in contact with Jane.

She waited all day, then all evening, but no message came and neither did he. She asked Mrs. Wortley and James if they had heard anything, but they shook their heads.

"Give him time, my dear. He will calm down," Mrs. Wortley said. "If you truly did nothing wrong, he will see reason and come again. He was terribly in love with you. Those men are the most difficult. It is better once their feelings have faded a bit."

She told herself she hoped Mrs. Wortley was wrong. She did not wish to see him! But she still found herself watching the break in the trees where the gravel road was, and listening for a curricle or a rider on horseback. Neither came to the farmhouse the second day either.

On the third day, she sent James with a message for Mr. Offerton, her attorney in Town, asking if he had heard anything from Darcy's attorney. She did not want to go herself in case Darcy came while she was gone. The answer came back in the negative, although he wrote that he would make inquiries.

It was on the fourth day that a rider came, but it was not Darcy. The messenger had a packet containing letters for each of the servants.

"Is there anything for me?" Elizabeth asked him.

"No, ma'am. Just what I gave."

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, and returned to the house to wait. She knew Mrs. Wortley would tell her what she could.

The housekeeper came to her a few moments later. Mr. Darcy was travelling to Pemberley with family and would likely be gone for the summer, she said. Otherwise, things were to continue as they are.

"He engaged us for the next quarter, so it appears as if all will be well for another three months at least. He asked us to confirm that you had not received any visitors or made any visits. I will assure him that you have seen nobody and your conduct has been exemplary."

There was one change in the arrangement, she explained.

"We are not to let you wander off alone. One of us must accompany you at all times. Otherwise, you may do as you please. It is for safety, he said."

Although they both knew that was not true, Elizabeth only nodded and Mrs. Wortley looked relieved. So she would be watched, Elizabeth thought resignedly. But, unlike Jane, she was still free, comparatively speaking. She had no wish for secret trysts with other men so the fact that somebody would accompany her wherever she went made little difference to her. It only meant her servants would have to take a lot more walks than they might otherwise be inclined to take.

Walking alone in the fields early the next morning - James, her designated chaperone, elected to fulfil his duties from the parked carriage, where Elizabeth suspected he was napping rather than watching her - Elizabeth knew she ought to be relieved.

Mr. Offerton had followed up his first message to confirm that Darcy's attorney had no new instructions and would maintain all accounts and allowance payments. He also assured her that three thousand pounds, her payment for the first six months, sat in trust and would be hers automatically upon the expiry of the term, barring any legal challenge from Darcy. And Mrs. Wortley's information suggested that she would have a place to live almost to the end of that time.

Yet she felt heavy-hearted at the thought of the summer ahead. Mrs. Wortley and Dorothy, good-natured as they were, shared few of her interests outside of the purely domestic sphere. Beyond rejoicing with Mrs. Wortley that the carrots were ready and revelling in Dorothy's new method of removing grass stains, there was not a great deal to talk about. Idly she wondered if she could persuade James to learn how to play chess.

Darcy had promised to teach her how to fish, she remembered. They had made a scheme to take a punt out on the Thames, starting upstream where it was narrow and meeting his footmen in Chelsea. They had even talked about staying out overnight, at one of the small inns in the quiet towns that lined the route.

In the hot summer days at the farmhouse, she thought of how pleasant it would have been to be on the river, perhaps dabbling her hands or feet in the cool water, or reading aloud to Darcy while he punted. A few times she walked the two miles to the Thames and sat on the shore on a picnic blanket with Dorothy or Mrs. Wortley or even alone, with James nearby, watching the boaters and fishermen wistfully.

She had finished reading the rest of Darcy's books. She wondered what he would have said about them and amused herself by making up opinions for him inside her head, then demolishing his arguments with well-reasoned rhetoric. She applied some of his frequent critiques against her own arguments and found she was forced to shore them up or abandon them altogether as flawed and weak.

She went to Town occasionally, but there was little draw. Jane had been removed for the summer to Sir Henry's country home, or to those of his relations, who had been seen calling at their townhouse.

Susan, the flower seller, told her that the talk on the street was that the hope of an heir had acted as an olive branch between Sir Henry and his wealthy relations, from whom he had become estranged following his marriage. It appeared that if only Jane could succeed in bringing a son to term this time, her troubles might be at an end and she would be taken into the bosom of Sir Henry's family. The news, while reassuring, also made Elizabeth feel more lonely than ever.

Her lifeline to the greater world was now the newspapers, which James still picked up and delivered faithfully. Sometimes they offered clues of Darcy's whereabouts. The activities of the Earl Fitzwilliam's family were frequently reported, and Elizabeth wondered if Darcy was present when his cousin, Viscount Milton, opened a horse race in Derby with the announcement of a generous purse, or when Lady Fitzwilliam held a benefit concert at Milton House, the family's seat in Northamptonshire.

She was able to definitively pinpoint his location only once, when he was listed among the distinguished gentry and other members of the Whig aristocracy who had gathered at Wentworth House, Lord Fitzwilliam's vast seat in Yorkshire. She wondered what he thought of the society belles in his midst and whether any were particularly handsome or charming.

Elizabeth reflected on what appeared to be marked differences in the freedoms that aristocratic women enjoyed compared with those of her own rank in life. She had seen with interest the _amours_ of Lady Caroline Lamb, Lady Fitzwilliam's niece, which continued to fill the gossip columns through that summer. The lady's indiscretions with Lord Byron, the celebrated young poet, had been the subject of much joyfully malicious speculation at Lord Blake's party, but Colonel Fitzwilliam had defended his cousin.

"Caro has been a terror since she was a child. It is no surprise she would disgrace herself; it is only too bad she cannot be more discreet about it," he said. He pointed out that Lady Caroline's husband, William Lamb, heir apparent to Viscount Melbourne, was no saint himself. Nor, for that matter, was any of his family - only the first of Lord Melbourne's six children was believed to be his, and Peniston Lamb had passed away from tuberculosis in the year five.

Darcy had been less impressed, Elizabeth remembered. They had discussed it when the scandal had first filtered into the newspapers at least a month earlier. They had even argued about it a little, Elizabeth playfully since she had no stake in the outcome. She had teased him for being partial; he was good friends with the youngest of the Lamb brothers from his Eton and Cambridge days. She also mocked him gently for his hypocrisy: "If Mr. Lamb will not behave himself, why should his wife feel obliged to do so?" she had asked. His response had been unsmiling and unequivocal: "There is nothing more reprehensible than an unfaithful woman."

In retrospect, she wondered if she should have predicted his exaggerated reaction to Lord Blake's attentions. From the first he had laid stress on her fidelity, just as Sir Henry had with Jane - unnecessarily, she had thought, since the contrary had never occurred to her any more than it would to Jane. But unlike Sir Henry, it appeared Darcy was prepared to adhere to the same rule himself. Had not Lord Blake said that he had not dallied with a woman since becoming his own master?

And, he had not hit her. She could still conjure up his livid features, his clenched jaw and fists. But he had not actually attempted to strike her. She had wanted him to strike her; she had tried to goad him into doing it. For far, far less, Mr. Sandys would have whipped her with a relish bordering on the obscene. She could not imagine what Sir Henry would have done to Jane.

"Maybe he is different," she said aloud.

She clasped her knees to herself on the picnic blanket and rested her chin on her knees as she watched a man try to land a fish while standing up in a punt on the Thames. She had been angry at Darcy at first, but now she missed him. It seemed like a long time since his cruel words, dredged up in memory, had the power to inflame her indignation. What had he really said of her that she had not deserved? Had she not thrown away her respectability with both hands?

If she had to do that night over again, she would not have said what she did to him. She would have tried harder to calm him down, recognizing that he was not in full command of himself. She hoped he returned soon.

* * *

One evening, while curled up on the garden bench behind the house with a book - a new one, which she had purchased at a shop in Town - she heard the crackle of wheels on gravel.

It was about four weeks after Darcy had first left and Elizabeth had given up much hope of seeing him before September, if ever again. But the sound was unmistakably of a light pleasure vehicle like a curricle. Who else could it be?

Still, she stayed where she was, unwilling to commit to any feelings of happiness at his return until it was assured. Then she heard the vehicle draw to a stop in the clearing and the voices of two men, crisp and clear in the evening quiet. It was Darcy and his footman.

She closed her book and ran around the side of the house. She heard Darcy inquire of Mrs. Wortley if "Miss Bennet" was in and Mrs. Wortley's reply that she was in the garden and then - she was facing him.

He was more handsome than ever, if a little haggard around the eyes, standing there clutching a large bouquet of roses. Dressed in the lighter colours of the country, he looked more approachable than she had seen him. His hair was a little shorter and his face was tanned, making his eyes appear lighter than usual.

"Elizabeth?" he said tentatively, taking a step toward her.

She had almost run to him, but at his sombre mien, her heart sank and she reminded herself that he had voluntarily stayed away from her for almost a month without one letter or message for her.

"Good evening," she said politely. She looked at the flowers. "Are those for me or for Mrs. Wortley?"

A smile flitted across his face. "They are for you. But perhaps Mrs. Wortley can put them in water."

Mrs. Wortley promptly relieved Darcy of his burden and left them to themselves. Darcy's footman similarly melted away and they were alone, standing facing each other a few feet apart.

"Will you walk with me?" he asked.

She nodded. She was bareheaded and clad only in a light gown and slippers so she led him in the direction of one of the fields that belonged to the farm, though it was a neighbour who did the actual farming. She folded her arms across her back while she walked and waited for him to speak. After casting several earnest glances at her profile, he did.

"Elizabeth, I will not attempt to excuse my conduct. It was reprehensible and has tortured me every day since I left you. I was mad with jealousy and so I sought to wound you in any fashion I could."

She glanced at him. "Why did you wait so long to return?"

The colour rose in his face. "It was only recently that my folly was brought home to me and I learnt to view events in a more rational light."

"How was it brought home to you?"

"Lord Blake," he said, somewhat begrudgingly.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Lord Blake?"

"Yes, I … er … encountered him and we managed to settle our differences."

Darcy's face became a little pinker under the tan. Four days ago, he had been at Wentworth House, still brooding over the frailties of woman. Georgiana had complained that he was terrible company and Lady Fitzwilliam accused him of scaring away all of her guests with his dour countenance.

As usual in the summer, the vast house was filled with dozens of guests, and one could go an entire visit without running into some of them. But he had run into Lord Blake the morning after Blake's arrival with Colonel Fitzwilliam, when all of the gentlemen had happened to come down for breakfast at the same time. After a half hour of furious brooding, Darcy had issued his challenge.

 _"My lord,_

 _I hereby request you name a time and place where I may meet you, to obtain satisfaction for the injury you have already done to myself and that which you intend in the future. I will only add that it must be early, and at a location not on the estate, to avoid giving inconvenience to our hostess. You may choose the means by which this event shall occur._

 _F. Darcy"_

Lord Blake's reply had been prompt, delivered to Darcy's dressing chamber less than an hour later.

 _"Mr. Darcy,_

 _Let no man accuse me of shirking in an affair of honour. I will be pleased to meet you at four o'clock in the common just beyond the village cricket piece. I trust you will bring your own pistols, but if not, mine shall be at your disposal. As for the preliminaries, I am content to leave it to our seconds to determine._

 _Blake"_

Darcy, assuming Colonel Fitzwilliam would be Lord Blake's second, had asked his friend George Lamb to stand for him, and the latter had not waited to finish his tea and toast in Lady Fitzwilliam's formal breakfast parlour before promptly agreeing. At four o'clock the next morning, all four men and a sleepy surgeon had arrived at the copse beyond the village green.

Darcy had been angry and determined; Lord Blake pale and resolute. Their seconds, Colonel Fitzwilliam and George Lamb, were alert and business-like and negotiated the terms of the fateful encounter carefully. In the dim morning light, they paced off the ground and examined and compared each combatant's pistols to ensure neither had an unfair advantage. At last they called Darcy and Lord Blake to their places for the final, formal attempt at settlement.

Darcy faced Lord Blake. The marquess was several inches shorter but, Darcy had to admit with grudging respect, bore himself with courage considering Darcy's well-known prowess on the shooting range.

"Am I to know for what reason I am being called to account?" Lord Blake queried.

"You know what this is about," Darcy had replied tersely.

"Actually, I do not. Do you, Fitz?" he appealed to his friend.

"No idea," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. "I am here half out of curiosity."

"Lamb?"

"Darcy told me nothing," George Lamb replied.

"Elizabeth," Darcy spat out.

Lord Blake furrowed his brow. "Who is Elizabeth?"

It had not taken long from there for the incident to descend into a farce. Taking the Marquess's comment as further insult, Darcy had planted him a facer, leaving him to measure his length in the dust. Colonel Fitzwilliam had immediately leapt on his cousin in protest, out of a sense of outraged propriety as much as friendship. George Lamb, still confused as to both the issue and the principal lady involved, had waded into the melee in an attempt to induce calm, but only succeeded in inflaming the situation further when Lord Blake picked himself up and launched himself at him.

In the midst of this, a stately carriage bearing the Fitzwilliam crest pulled up near the copse, accompanied by a rider on horseback. Lord Milton jumped out of the carriage and he and the local constable hurried to the scene. Lord Milton had been walking the halls with his fourth-born and heir, who was teething, and happened to hear the noise and see Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Blake leaving the house with the pistol case.

"Are you all out of your senses?! Stop this at once!" he cried. The anger in his voice - and the disconcerting sight of him in his dressing gown, slippers and cotton nightcap - was sufficient to induce them to obey.

Lord Milton insisted they all return to the house with him in his carriage. The constable backed up this demand with a promise of arrest if they did not, trying not to rub his hands in glee at the tale he would have to tell at the local tavern about the quality behaving badly. In the end, they rode back to Wentworth House while Lord Milton castigated Lord Blake and Darcy for being so profligate as to risk the future of their respective houses, then turned on George Lamb and Colonel Fitzwilliam for being so lax as to help them.

"What on earth is this about?" Lord Milton demanded.

"A girl," was Colonel Fitzwilliam's terse reply. He held his handkerchief to his lip, which was beginning to swell up from contact with Darcy's fist. "Darcy's."

"A girl? _Darcy_?" Lord Milton said in astonishment and dismay.

"Ohhh … _Elizabeth_ ," said Lord Blake, illumination dawning.

Darcy glared at the marquess.

" _You_ said I was to appear as a friend." Lord Blake said accusingly, cupping his bruised cheek.

"I said a friend, not a rake and a scoundrel!"

"I was only trying to help," Lord Blake shrugged. "Fitz told me you intended to cast her out after six months, but she was far too good for that."

"I said no such thing," said Darcy, now glaring at Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Indeed, we drank to it," Colonel Fitzwilliam said. "I even felt penitent afterward, because it was shockingly bad advice. You do not wish to develop a reputation as a cad."

"You should never have _propositioned_ her," Darcy said, rounding back on Lord Blake.

"It was an idle suggestion only. I certainly did not intend offence. Besides, she had no interest in me. Took me to task over Giacinta. Perhaps _there_ I have been a bit of a cad," Lord Blake added reflectively. "In any case, if you wish for an apology over this, I offer it freely. I misunderstood your intentions."

"You cannot expect people to know your mind if you do not speak it, Darcy," Colonel Fitzwilliam said.

"I have been telling him that for years," George Lamb added, unhelpfully.

Darcy glared at them all, although with only half-hearted malevolence. It was beginning to dawn on him that he had been a fool about the whole business. And now he had lost a whole month, _if_ Elizabeth would ever admit him into her presence again. He thought of what he had said to her and winced. He thought of what _she_ had said to _him_ and died a little inside.

Lord Milton had been listening to the proceedings with horror. "I would not have believed it of you, Darcy. I thought you had better morals than _some_." He looked pointedly at his brother and Lord Blake. "My mother and Lady Catherine are right, you must marry as soon as possible, and to a steady, virtuous woman. It is the only way to avoid being mired in sin."

"Yes, marry him off," Lord Blake said sardonically, probing his bruised cheek tenderly. "He has become a menace to good society."

Darcy did not relate any of this to Elizabeth. Instead, he said quietly, "I was a brute. Can you forgive me?"

She nodded solemnly. "I think we both said terrible things we did not mean."

He brightened. "No? You did not mean it?"

She looked up at him and, shaking her head, gave a little smile. "I lost my temper."

Darcy smiled, the sombreness gone. He cleared his throat. "Elizabeth, I must ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Who was it that hit you?"

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. Lady Caroline Lamb (1785-1828) was the Earl of Bessborough's only daughter, and niece of both the Countess Fitzwilliam and the Duchess of Devonshire (Georgiana). An author and poet, she is best known for her short-lived and extremely public love affair with the poet Lord Byron in 1812, which was followed by a (disputed) attempt to slit her wrists in the middle of the ballroom at Lady Heathcote's ball in 1813. High society was shocked, not at her infidelity, but her lack of discretion.

2\. The Hon. William Lamb (1779-1848), Lady Caroline's husband, was later Lord Melbourne and twice prime minister under Queen Victoria. Considered a rising political star in his youth, he chose not to contest for a seat in the 1812 election and largely stepped out of politics until after his wife's descent into mental illness and then death in 1828. History disagrees as to whether he was indolent and indifferent or shattered by his wife's behaviour, but he stood by her to the end despite extreme pressure from family and friends to put her aside.

3\. Lord Byron, the famous poet. History disputes how much he is to blame in the Lady Caroline Lamb affair. His letters reveal that he alternated between pledging love to her and making fun of her to his other lovers, but it is clear that she wished the affair to continue longer than he did. In response to her plea for a lock of his hair, he sent pubic hair gleefully provided by one of his other lovers, Lady Oxford.

4\. Viscount Melbourne was a non-entity overshadowed by his wife, a brilliant political operative who greatly advanced her family's fortunes by discreet affairs with powerful men, including the Prince of Wales. Lord Melbourne was largely content to let Lady Melbourne go her own way while he enjoyed his mistress. That changed in 1805 when Peniston Lamb, the only son of his blood, died at age 35 and William Lamb, reputedly the son of the Earl of Egremont, became heir apparent to the Melbourne viscountcy.

5\. The Hon. George Lamb (1784-1834) was a politician and writer and married Caroline St. Jules, illegitimate daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire (Bess). His age makes him the exact contemporary of Darcy according to the conventional timeline, and his name appears on the school lists for Eton and Cambridge at the exact time you would expect Darcy to have been in attendance. He is believed to be an illegitimate son of the Prince of Wales, who was his godfather.

6\. Viscount Milton, later the 5th Earl Fitzwilliam, married his first cousin the Hon. Mary Dundas, daughter of the 1st Baron Dundas, in 1806 and they had 13 children. His heir apparent, William, was born January 18, 1812, making him about five and a half months old in his mention in this chapter. Lord Milton had a reputation as an earnest and virtuous man with beautifully gentle manners, though on occasion he displayed considerable political courage. His nickname given by political rivals and enemies at school was "Old Lady Milton."

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	11. Chapter 11 - Reconciliation

**CHAPTER 11 - RECONCILIATION**

"Who was it that hit you?" he asked. "Was it your father?"

At his question, she turned pale and resumed walking. He followed her.

"Elizabeth? Please tell me. I need to know. Somebody hurt you, else why did you think that I would do so? It was your father, was it not?"

She only shook her head and continued walking.

"Then who? Elizabeth? Why can you not tell me?"

She could hear the frustration rising in his voice and felt a hint of fear, not that he would be angry with her again, but that he might leave again. She stopped walking and turned. He was standing there about ten paces behind, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Why do you wish to know?"

"Why do I wish to know?" he asked incredulously. He closed the gap between them and touched her arm. He said quietly, "Because I love you. If somebody hurt you, I need to know."

He asked too much of her; things she did not want to give. But still, she did not want him to leave again. She said in a shaky voice, "My father would never have hurt me."

"Elizabeth, please do not lie to me. I saw the marks on your back. That was no mild whipping."

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She said, "That was not my real father. That was the man who married my mother after my father died, when I was fourteen."

"I see. And he hit you?"

"He whipped us only, whenever he felt we had behaved improperly." She looked down on the ground and said, reluctantly, "It was my mother he truly hit."

"What happened? Please tell me."

His voice was awful in its gentle insistence. She could not stand up to it.

She said, speaking low, "I do not think you ever spoke to my mother. She does not speak to strangers now, nor put herself forward. But she was different before she married Mr. Sandys. Then she was quite loud and fearless and … a little vulgar sometimes. I was often embarrassed by her."

"Yes?"

"When Mr. Sandys offered for her, he said he would be a proper husband and a good father to her daughters. Everybody was so relieved. My father had left my mother badly off so Mr. Sandys seemed to be the answer to a prayer. My uncle Gardiner even took a charge on his business to pay an additional dowry to make up for the fact that Mr. Sandys could not access my mother's entire fortune, only the income on it."

"But he hit her." His voice was bleak.

"Yes. It turned out what Mr. Sandys meant when he said that he would be a proper husband was that he would beat her until _she_ behaved as a proper wife. She had never been a proper wife! She always exceeded her income and never did as my father bade her unless it was something she wished to do herself.

"The first year was the worst. My mother - she is not clever, she did not learn quickly. She made frequent mistakes and then the beatings would become more severe. But he took no pleasure from it, he said. He did it only because it was his _duty_."

Beside her, Darcy sucked in his breath angrily and she felt a brief measure of satisfaction that his reaction mirrored her own.

"She did fight him for the first few years in her own way," she said. "She would lie to protect us, especially my youngest sister Lydia, who had the hardest time. But two years ago, Lydia ran away. After that, my mother did not bother to try anymore. She was only obedient and … silent."

Her chin shook and she gritted her teeth to keep the tears back. How often she had been embarrassed by her mother and her sister! She would give anything to have them back as they had been.

She felt his arms go about her, gathering her to his chest. His waistcoat was a fine silk under her cheek; his shirt soft linen. Underneath it, she could hear his heart beating, strong and steady and comforting. She burrowed her face into him and inhaled the smell of good soap and clean skin and the outdoors. Then the tears came, a trickle at first and then more and more, until they streamed down her face. She was sobbing onto his chest, all of her rage and helplessness over Mrs. Bennet and Lydia; all of her fears for Jane.

He held her close, stroked her hair and whispered soothing things. After a while, the sobs subsided and she drew a deep, shuddering breath. She realized she was clutching Darcy's waistcoat and making a mess of it.

"I am sorry." She hiccuped and pulled away.

He did not seem to mind. He smiled at her and fished out his handkerchief and gave it to her. She blew her nose in it, feeling embarrassed by the noise, but he only gathered her in his arms again. She lay her cheek on his chest and sighed. They stood like that for some time while he stroked her hair. Finally, he spoke again.

"Elizabeth, what can be done for your mother? What has been attempted?"

She shook her head against his waistcoat. "Nothing can be done. When first it happened, my mother pleaded with my uncles to extricate her. She was so scared! She did not understand why it was happening. But my one uncle, who is an attorney, said there was nothing to be done so long as she could not restrain her spending. He has the right to correct her if she misbehaves, and she has no right to leave him. If she tries, she will be forced to return."

She crushed the handkerchief in her hand at the memory and felt the tears start again. She wiped them away with the handkerchief.

Darcy hesitated. This accorded with his understanding of the law as well.

"I am sorry for your mother," he said. "Has it continued, if, as you suggest, she has learnt to conduct herself properly?"

"Not so frequently," Elizabeth said reluctantly. "Not now that my mother remains at home for the most part and concerns herself only with the household or sits in her rooms."

"I see."

He tried to keep his tone neutral. But Elizabeth pushed herself away from him.

"You think he is right!"

"No, I did not say that. But as her husband he is responsible for her conduct -"

He stopped talking when she stalked away, ahead of him.

"Elizabeth!" He caught up to her. "Elizabeth, I do not say that what he does is right - "

"You are just like them," she turned on him, her eyes hard and resentful. "Do you know that he would beat her with a stick in front of us? To teach us all a woman's proper place and heap humiliation on her injury? That he would beat her in front of the servants and kick her as if she was a dog or a dumb animal?"

Darcy shook his head. "I cannot condone such methods. I consider such behaviour reprehensible. My only point is that _in law_ , he does not err."

"Then the law is wrong!" she cried passionately. "I do not care what my mother did! He had no right to treat her so!"

She was crying again, stormily.

"You are right," she heard him say. "Whatever the law says, no gentleman would conduct himself so. Only the lowest and basest of men would use their wives in that manner no matter what they have done."

Elizabeth heaved a sigh. Yes, that was it. Mr. Sandys might have the _right_ to do as he did to her mother and her sisters, but he should never be admired for it. He was not the ideal replacement husband and father that he held himself out to be to the neighbourhood. He was only low and cruel and arrogant.

She felt Darcy's arms go around her again and this time she allowed it.

"Shhh," he soothed her. "Shhh."

Gradually, she grew calmer. When her tears had stopped, he raised her chin to make her look at him. He said, "Elizabeth. I hope you know that I could _never_ strike you."

She nodded, wiping the tears from her face. "I know."

He said sadly, "I am sorry I hurt you, or that I scared you. I should not have shaken you. Can you forgive me?"

She wiped her eyes and gave him a faint smile. "You did not really hurt me and I was not truly scared. Only angry."

"Regardless, I should not have touched you. If I had only known … "

She shook her head. "I should have told you, perhaps, but I was not ready to. The only person I have told outside my family is Charlotte. Although," she added bitterly, "I imagine everybody did know, with the servants' talk. They only preferred to pretend it did not happen."

She pulled away and resumed walking and Darcy did as well. At length, they reached the boundary of the farm and turned around, heading back to the farmhouse.

"Will you stay for supper?" Elizabeth asked.

"I would like to," he said, then added, hesitantly, "but I know you did not expect me. I do not wish to inconvenience you - "

"It would not be an inconvenience. Mrs. Wortley would be delighted. She has been hoping you would come back."

"I am not concerned with Mrs. Wortley's opinion."

She glanced at him shyly. "I would like you to stay as well."

His face lit up. "Then I should be pleased to stay."

They walked in silence for a while, both lost in contemplation. Then Elizabeth asked Darcy what he had been doing for the last month and he told her: political meetings, work on his estate and visits with family.

"And you?"

"A lot of walking. And reading. I finished all of your books and have been buying my own."

"I will have to set up an account at my favourite bookseller for you."

"I am afraid you could not afford it," she teased.

"You intend to bankrupt me in a year, do you?" he smiled at her joke.

She was relieved to veer into lighter topics. She asked him if he had attended the race with Lord Milton that she had read about in the newspaper and he answered in the affirmative, with a smile.

"What is the joke?" she asked.

"Oh - nothing. But it has been a bad year for the leading racing peers. None of them have had a major win since the Duke of Rutland took the Oaks Stakes last year. They have resorted to games of oneupmanship in the splendour of their equipages and escort in an attempt to maintain their standing. It has been quite the display."

"How so?"

He smiled at her. "The Duke of Grafton started it, bringing in footmen dressed in livery in his racing colours to run alongside his carriage and six. The Duke of Hamilton then followed, but he added four outriders. Then the Duke of Rutland joined in, but with an extra carriage and six and eight outriders. And so it went. But Lord Fitzwilliam is never to be outdone, especially not by Rutland, who is a Tory. So at the Derby race, he had a lead barouche, two carriages and six and fourteen outriders, with the requisite number of footmen to run alongside, all outfitted in the most splendid livery. Georgiana and I rode in the second carriage with Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Milton's three little girls."

"It must have been quite the display," she smiled.

"Indeed. Lady Fitzwilliam had all the girls dressed in matching jockey-style gowns and hats in the Fitzwilliam colours. The youngest is just two years old. They caused quite a stir." He chuckled. "Georgiana spent the majority of the race attempting to hide from the press. I fear my aunt will need to find a bolder niece for her fashionable schemes."

She laughed at this picture, then stole another glance at him. Perhaps it was because of his absence, but she felt as if she was seeing him for the first time.

She noticed how his hair brushed the back of his cravat and how well his tailored coat fit his broad shoulders and his breeches hugged his narrow hips and lean, muscular legs. She liked how he moved, with the elegance of a dancer or a fencer yet always with a restless, restrained energy. She wondered why he had not already kissed her. Did he not want to anymore?

After supper, she asked him if he wanted to play chess and he agreed. They set up the chess board and began, but the game was lackadaisical. She was distracted and Darcy did not seem any more attentive. Once they both sat there for several minutes with nobody attempting to make a move, and then they had to determine whose turn it was.

Elizabeth had started guiltily at his question. She had been staring at his hands, noticing the long, elegant fingers and strong wrists, remembering his touch when they were alone at night. When he was not looking, she had examined the tiny new lines around his sensitive mouth and her fingers itched to reach out and smooth them away. But it seemed that every time she looked up at him, he would look down at the chessboard swiftly. He seemed flushed in the heat and shifted often in his chair. She wondered if he was bored.

After another pause in the play to determine who had gone last, Darcy announced abruptly, "I have something for you. A present."

"Flowers _and_ a present?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow. "I shall become quite spoilt."

He extracted a small box, covered in silk, from his pocket and placed it in front of her. She lifted the lid and saw a pair of tiny combs, with flowers worked in gold filigree with large rubies at their heart. The craftsmanship was apparent and his taste, as always, exquisite. They were clearly expensive - too expensive, she thought. She closed the lid and pushed the box back to him.

"You do not need to buy me such things."

"You do not like them?" he said in dismay.

"They are beautiful. But there is no need." She could not explain why she did not want to accept his present.

He opened the box and studied them, turning them this way and that to catch the light.

"Are you concerned that I am trying to purchase your forgiveness?" he asked quietly.

"No. Well, partly." She thought about it. "No - more that you do not need to purchase my forgiveness. Neither of us can boast of unblemished conduct."

"You did nothing wrong, Elizabeth. I suspected you for no reason. I was stupid, I was insane. You had every right to be … disgusted by me." His voice choked a little on the last words and he flushed under his tan.

She touched his hand. "I was not, truly. It was something I said only to hurt you."

He looked at her fingers resting on his bare hand and she blushed. It was the first time their skin had come into contact since his return. They had both worn gloves outdoors. She noticed lines on his hands, like light scars, and thought they must be from the cuts he had received during their last encounter. She imagined herself pressing her lips to them.

She was about to take her hand back, but he captured her fingers in his. He turned her hand over to expose her palm and ran his thumb over it lightly. Her pulse quickened.

"Elizabeth."

She waited, but he said nothing more. Their eyes met, and then he said, "May I stay tonight?"

She stared at him. "Of course! It is your right. We agreed -"

"I know what we agreed," he cut her off. "I do not care about that. What I wish to know is how _you_ feel about my staying. If you are not comfortable with it, I will not do it. I know you have not seen me for some time and may need time to become used to me again. I would not wish to rush -"

She shook her head swiftly, then blushed when he looked at her. She could feel his eyes scrutinizing her and the idea that he could read her thoughts made her blush harder. She looked down at the table, but through her side vision saw that he had risen from his seat and was coming around to her. She looked up. He was standing above her now, bending down to her, slowly. She stared at his mouth. In a moment it would be on hers. Her lips tingled at the anticipation of it.

His lips were soft; they tasted sweet, sending shivers of excitement flashing like quicksilver through her veins. Their tongues touched and she was shocked, then thrilled, at the intimacy of it. She slipped a hand around the back of his head and kissed him again, savouring the taste of him.

He drew her to standing position. His arms were about her and she pressed herself against him, so hard that she could feel the buttons of his waistcoat edging into her flesh through the light fabric of her gown and chemise. His body was taut with arousal against hers. He bent her backwards over his arm and kissed her neck and throat and bosom while she clung to him, her knees suddenly too weak to stand.

"Elizabeth," he said, his breath shallow and fast. She waited to hear what he wanted of her, but he only said her name over and over like a prayer as he continued to kiss her: "Elizabeth, Elizabeth."

 _I love you_. She smothered the impulse to say it aloud. Instead, she pulled his head down to kiss him again.

He picked her up and carried her up the stairs in his arms. They continued kissing, she untying his cravat as they went; later Mrs. Wortley would find it draped over the stair rail. She kissed his face, his neck, his lips. At the top, she remembered.

"Do you have to - ?"

"It is ready. In my pocket," he said. He shouldered open the door to the bedchamber, where she had not slept since he left.

She could not resist teasing him, even through her relief. "You were so certain of your reception?"

"Not at all." He coloured lightly. "I only wished to be prepared. Just in case. And … I did debate it for a long time with myself."

She laughed softly. He set her down on the bed gently and they undressed themselves and each other, still kissing and touching, until she wore only a chemise. This he lifted over her head and cast aside. Then he stopped and looked at her.

She was naked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She had been naked with him before, often. He had never allowed her to dress after they had been intimate, but asked her to sleep unclothed and she had obliged. But then they had always been under the bedcover, and he had not looked at her like this.

"What is it?" she whispered, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

He reached out and touched her breast, circling her nipple lightly, then ran his hand down the side of her body, tracing the curve of breast and hip and thigh. Her skin felt electric to his touch. His hand was large and warm on her thigh and she felt a pulse of desire within her.

He looked at her, his eyes translucent in the late evening sunshine and bright with unspoken emotion.

"I dreamt of you every night like this. But I did not know if I would ever see you again."

She did not understand him. "It was your choice, entirely your choice, to stay away from me."

He shook his head. "I could not. I cannot share you, Elizabeth. Not for this."

She still did not understand him, but it did not matter, he was here now. She reached for him and he came. His lips and hands were on her again, everywhere on her body. She grabbed fistfuls of the bedcover and cried out her pleasure. It was too much, yet not enough. She wanted more of him.

"Please … I am ready …"

She ached with readiness. He was above her again, kissing her. "Say my name," he whispered hoarsely against her lips.

"Fitzwilliam," she breathed.

She felt him begin to enter her and dug her fingers into his shoulder, but there was no pain or discomfort any more, only pure pleasure. She trembled with it and moaned his name as he eased the rest of himself into her. And then he was kissing her and moving inside of her and any further words or thoughts were lost to blissful incoherence.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. The law in this time recognized that a man had the right to issue "mild correction" to his wife and children. A 1782 cartoon by Thomas Gillray attributed the statement to Judge Francis Buller of the Court of King's Bench that this meant he could beat her with a stick up to the diameter of his thumb. This followed on an earlier case in which a man who had beat his wife to death with a pestle was convicted of murder on the grounds that there was _some_ limit to the type of "correction" that could be used. One could argue in that time that Mrs. Bennet, being a spendthrift, had simply invited her own beatings in the eyes of the law.

2\. It was possible for a wife to obtain a divorce _a mensa et thoro_ , or a legal separation, on the grounds of cruelty. However, this was a high bar to meet because it required proof of endangerment of life and was only available when the wife had conducted herself in approved fashion (ie not needing any correction). In addition, wives could not testify against husbands, so the endangerment of life would have to take place before other witnesses. And if a wife simply left, a husband could force her return by suing for restitution of conjugal rights.

3\. By the Regency period, the elite and leisured classes were frowning on wife-beating as a brutish means of ensuring good conduct of wives, even as wife-beating continued as a time-honoured practice among the lower and working classes. Men like Mr. Bennet and Mr. Wickham Sr., who were unable to control their wives' extravagant ways, were according to one view _too weak_ to administer the needed discipline, but according to another, _too gentlemanly_ to be able to do it.

4\. The Dukes of Rutland, Grafton and Hamilton won at least one of the major three-year-old stakes (the Derby, the Oaks and the St. Leger) in 1811, 1810 and 1809 respectively. The Earl Fitzwilliam's last major win at this time was in 1807, but he enjoyed the reputation of always having the most splendid equipage. His racing colours were green with a black cap.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	12. Chapter 12 - Gone Fishing

**CHAPTER 12 - GONE FISHING**

When Elizabeth looked back on the summer that followed, all the days seemed flooded with golden sunshine.

Darcy stayed the first night, then returned to his townhouse to collect a few items and give instructions to his staff. He was back in the afternoon and, after another distracted attempt to play chess that ended in laughter, they spent the remainder of the day in bed.

The rest of the days were similar. He would leave for a few hours every day or two to attend to business or a meeting, but otherwise lived at the farmhouse with her. He took to bringing work with him when he returned, and his footman cleared off a table in his dressing room that he could use as a desk. He would spend an hour or so every day reviewing documents and attending to correspondence while she read or helped Mrs. Wortley or Dorothy.

The rest of the time they spent as before: reading, walking and taking their meals together. Yet to Elizabeth every moment seemed new and precious.

Especially the nights. She wondered how something that had once felt like a duty could be so transformed. Before, he had importuned her no more than once a night and, while she had gradually come to enjoy it, she had still thought of it as something they did primarily for _his_ enjoyment. Now, she craved his touch and found herself thinking of him when he was away from her. They would retire early and rise late, revelling in each other's bodies until the crisp bed sheets were tangled and damp and the midday sunshine poured through the windows.

One day in mid-August, he arrived wearing a wide-brimmed hat and rough boots. He asked her if she was still interested in learning how to fish. She answered in the affirmative and the next day they rose early for once and drove his curricle to the Thames. He taught her the intricacies of how to tie a fishing fly and cast a line, and which of the sun-dappled pools under the willow trees that lined the shore were the most likely to harbour fish.

By the time James and his footmen arrived with a picnic luncheon, she had made her first catch, and then a second. These she insisted they eat immediately, so the servants scrambled to find kindling and fuel while Darcy rolled up his sleeves and scaled, skinned and gutted her fish with a knife he carried in his tackle box. She was impressed to learn that he was quite efficient at this task.

"I grew up by a river. One learns a few things here and there," he told her.

Darcy caught creel after creel full of fish, more than any of them could hope to eat. His footman asked if he wished it delivered to his townhouse for the servants, or distributed to friends, but Darcy sent them with the creels to a nearby almshouse instead. They brought back a grateful note from the superintendent.

He also taught her how to ride, on a gentle mare he had brought specially for the purpose, which he stabled permanently at the farm. They were careful where they rode together and stayed off the main roads, for fear they would be too noticeable on horseback and easily recognized, but afterward she was able to go a little further afield in her explorations of the countryside.

Darcy insisted James attend her at all times for safety reasons, but this time Elizabeth knew his concern was genuine, so she did not mind. Otherwise, she had regained her former freedom with no servants watching her.

The only shadow over the summer was her concerns for Jane, who was in or close to her confinement period by now. Sir Henry and Lady Blemmell had still not returned to their house and Susan told her that the word from the servants left behind at the townhouse was that they would not until after the child came.

In one respect, Elizabeth was relieved. Surely it could only be a good thing if there were more people around to prevent Sir Henry from falling into his old, vicious habits. But still, she worried. Jane's sojourn in the country meant Elizabeth had not had a note from her since her departure in early July.

One day, late in the summer, Darcy reminded her of their scheme to punt down the Thames and stay out overnight. He knew a place they could stay that would afford more comfort and privacy than any of the inns along the way, he said.

"That sounds heavenly," she said, curling up against him and kissing him on his bare chest. It was mid-morning and they were still lying naked in bed.

"Mm." He pulled her on top of him and she sat up, straddling his hips, her hair flowing around her shoulders and down her back. He put his hands behind his head and gazed up at her, smiling. " _This_ is heavenly."

"I think we must get out of bed," she said. "We have missed breakfast."

"I agree completely." But he made no attempt to move.

"Mrs. Wortley will be disgusted with us if we do not come down," she warned. "She will think that she slaves away for nothing."

"Of course, we do not wish to upset Mrs. Wortley," he agreed.

"Then shall we go?"

"Certainly. But I am in a predicament. There is a lovely lady resting atop of me, and I would not wish to disturb her seat." He shifted his hips slightly under her to indicate his dilemma and grinned. "It is a remarkably fine one."

Elizabeth laughed softly. "It is a _very_ comfortable seat." She also shifted slightly on top of him and saw desire spring into his eyes, although just moments before, he had declared himself both sated and exhausted. "On the other hand, I would not wish to impose, either on you or Mrs. Wortley."

She moved off of him and he was about to protest, but she only moved further down his legs, dropping light kisses on his chest, then his flat belly, then lower.

"My god, Elizabeth," he murmured as she took him in her mouth. He reached out wildly to find the bedpost. "Ah. Ahh. Aaah!"

She peered up at him through thick eyelashes. He had dragged himself halfway to a sitting position, lying against the pillows. His eyes were squeezed shut and one hand clutched the bedpost while the other held her hair. His breath came in short pants. She smiled wickedly. She loved to see him like this. She increased her rhythm slightly and was gratified to see his response in the flex of his stomach muscles and the rhythm of his hips. She knew he was not far off now.

"Stop … stop," he gasped, tugging at her hair.

She sat up and wiped her mouth.

"I thought you enjoyed that," she said, disappointed.

He had reached to the bedside to obtain a preservative. He donned it and reached for her and rolled her onto her back, then covered her with his body and nudged her legs open.

"I enjoy it very much," he said as he kissed her. "But this …" - he pushed himself into her slowly and watched her eyes widen at the sensation, then grasped her hair in both his hands and bared her neck to his kisses - "I _love_."

* * *

The scene on the River Thames was worthy of a Constable painting. On the dock stood a pretty young lady in cream-coloured gown with a matching parasol trimmed in delicate ruffles. Beside her, on his knees, a liveried servant handed items to another servant who arranged them carefully in the well-stocked pleasure punt floating in the water. Darcy stood in the punt and directed the proceedings with a meticulous eye.

"Do we plan to live in it?" Elizabeth inquired.

"In my experience, young ladies enjoy their comforts," Darcy retorted. He took cushions from one side and threw them to his servant, telling him to redistribute them along the bow.

"You have taken many young ladies for private cruises down the river?" she asked. Her voice was innocent, which meant, he now knew, that she was mocking him.

He glanced up at her on the dock and smiled. "Yes - my sister. Now, are you ready?"

He held out his arms, expecting to swing her into the punt, but she instead closed her parasol, took his hand and stepped in lightly, her little slippered foot scarcely rocking the flat, wide-bottomed craft as she touched down. Graceful as thistledown, he thought with admiration.

She sat down on the platform and made herself comfortable among the cushions, then reopened her parasol and smiled at him as if to say that she was ready. Darcy gave last instructions to his footmen, who began unfastening the punt from its moorings. He caught the rope thrown to him, coiled it neatly, then picked up the pole and pushed slowly out into the river.

They had driven many miles in order to put in upstream at a narrow point of the river, where the waterway was as tranquil and isolated as he had hoped. It was a perfect day to be on the river. The sky was an unblemished blue overhead, the limes and sycamores lining the banks a full and leafy green. The water wound itself through this scene like a ribbon of silver.

Darcy, poling from the stern, enjoyed the view. Before him, Elizabeth lay in the sloped bow among the cushions, belly down, her cheek resting on one arm, the other trailing a slim, fair hand through the water. The sun shone through her light dress and he could see clearly the outline of her legs and where the short chemise ended on her thighs. Her gown had caught under her and she wriggled a little to free it, causing the skirt to tighten over her pert bottom for a moment. He grinned to himself. It was a shame one could not count on privacy on the water. It was going to be a long day.

After a while, Elizabeth turned over and smiled up at him. "You make me feel quite ashamed of myself. Here I lie, perfectly idle, while you work away, bringing us toward our destination."

He fastened the pole to its resting place on the punt and stripped off his coat. It was not hard work, but the day was fine and extra layers were superfluous. "That is probably enough. I thought you might enjoy travelling faster for a while to see the view, but we can float now."

He made himself comfortable beside her among the cushions and she cuddled up to him, resting her head on his arm.

"Did you do this when you were a child? You seem very sure of yourself."

"We took a skiff out sometimes from my family estate, but not a punt, and not often. We mostly fished the banks. But one cannot attend Cambridge without becoming proficient with a punt and pole. On certain days, it seemed the entire college would turn out on the Cam," he said, referring to the river that ran through the university town.

She asked him what he had studied at Cambridge and he told her he had taken the standard B.A. He had considered going further, studying law at one of the Inns of Court, but then his father had unexpectedly taken ill and died and he found himself master of the estate at twenty-two years old.

"Did you wish to be a barrister?" she asked.

Had he? It seemed a lifetime ago, the time before his father died, when he had had leisure to ponder what he wished to do with his life, and time to pursue those dreams. He remembered visits to his great-uncle, who had been Chief Justice of the Court of Common Pleas before his death, and the fascinating stories Lord Darcy had told the family.

"I would have considered it," he said at last. "My father's and Lord Fitzwilliam's intention was that I be an MP for Derbyshire, however."

He explained that there were two county seats in Derbyshire and the Dukes of Devonshire as the largest landowner in the county always claimed one for a member of their family, the Cavendishes. Typically the other would fall to a leading Tory family, as determined by negotiation among them, because no Whig family was seen as having sufficient influence to force a second Whig seat. The one exception was the Darcys because of their holdings, their reputation and their ancient name. That and the fact that they would have the backing of both Fitzwilliam and Devonshire, who was related to the Fitzwilliams by marriage as well as political affiliation.

"It is very expensive to contest an election," Darcy told her. "When Lord Milton did it to win his Yorkshire seat, it cost my uncle over a hundred thousand pounds in expenses. That was a high-water mark, but it is nevertheless illustrative."

"My goodness!" Elizabeth exclaimed, shaking her head.

"What did you wish for your future, Elizabeth?" he asked. "You told me you did not want a husband. What did you envision you would do?"

She bit her lip - adorably, he thought - and said, "I did not think about it particularly. I suppose I only wished to be free of imposition, able to do as I pleased."

"So you decided you would be a man's mistress?"

He knew that she had been evasive the last time he had asked the question. Would she tell him the truth now?

"I did not have a concerted plan exactly," she faltered. "It was an idle thought only, that it was an easy way to purchase my freedom. I little thought that you would take me up on the offer."

"Would you have made the same offer to any man of means?" He strived to keep his tone neutral.

"I … I do not know. I did not have a plan, as I said. It slipped out, with you. Because you insulted me." She smiled up at him. "I think I thought I could revenge myself that way and also play a little joke on you. You were so stiff and formal, I thought it would shock you."

"That it did."

He spoke jokingly, but he felt disheartened. It was as he had feared, she had used him for his money only. He had thought it was the case, and told himself it must be, but had nevertheless hoped there was something more.

Perhaps his disappointment showed on his face, for she said, "But … Fitzwilliam. I do not feel that way anymore."

"No?"

She shook her head. "No, not for some time. If it had to be anybody, I am glad it was you. You have made me very … happy."

It was something, he thought. He looked at her, but she had dropped her eyes and all he could see was the thick fringe of lashes over pink cheeks. He gave a deep sigh.

She sat up and looked at him and said, "I am sorry."

"What have you to be sorry for?" he asked.

She sighed, her eyes full of regret. "Using you. I did not think you had any feelings that were possible to injure, but now I know better. I should not have used you."

She kissed his cheek in apology and pressed her slim, pliant form against him and he felt his desire flare. He smiled at her wryly, fingering one of the curls that lay at her neck. "I cannot find it in me to regret being used in this way."

She smiled, looking at his lips, then kissed him again. He held her to him, letting her feel how much he wanted her.

"We cannot do this on the open water," she said teasingly, pushing his hand down, off her breast.

He groaned. "I know. But we are still hours away from the lodge."

To distract himself, he set up the fishing lines while they continued to drift. They caught a few fish this way and put them in the creels sunk in the water on either side of the punt. Then they stopped for a while, in a shady spot under the willow branches, and enjoyed the wine and picnic lunch that Mrs. Wortley had prepared for them.

Observing the telltale bubbles on the surface of the water that were the sign of bottom-feeding fish, Darcy baited a pole and explained to Elizabeth what he was doing. She was quiet and attentive, and it was not long after that that Darcy caught a bite. It turned out to be an excellent one - in his opinion at least.

"He is terribly ugly," Elizabeth said. They were floating on the river again and she had opened the lid of the creel and was peering at his catch.

"Elizabeth, I will have you know that is an uncommonly fine specimen of tench, which will awe all of the local fishermen and make my name in this stretch of the river for a generation," he said with dignity from the bow, where he was lounging.

"His eyes are red."

"His eyes are supposed to be red."

"There is something sinister about his colour."

"His colour is perfect."

She sat back, shaking her head. "I think he is looking at me."

Darcy rolled his eyes.

She picked up a twig that was floating by in the water and used it to gently prod the tench. It snapped at the twig. She prodded it again.

"Aaaaaaaahhh!"

The tench had jumped out of the creel at Elizabeth, who knocked it away. It landed in the punt and was now flopping around on the floor. Elizabeth fled to the bow where Darcy had been sitting, knocking cushions and tackle and items of clothing over the side of the boat and into the water. She threw herself at Darcy.

"Elizabeth, be calm!" he commanded, thrusting her behind him. He picked up a sack and slowly advanced. At the opportune moment, he threw the bag over the furiously flopping fish, slammed it down to the floor, then secured it. Then he dumped the tench back in the creel and latched it. He turned around to see Elizabeth cowering in the bow.

"And here I thought you a brave woman," he smirked. "Little did I know you would be afraid of a mere fish."

She unstuck herself from the side of the punt and sat up, blushing. "I am not," she said indignantly. "It was only that I was startled."

He smiled. He found her fear, uncharacteristic as it was, both endearing and arousing. Or perhaps it was the sight of her bent over the side of the boat peering upstream.

"I knocked a number of things into the water." She gestured back at them.

He reversed the slow-moving punt and poled them back upstream to where the cushions were bobbing in the water. They picked them up.

"My parasol is gone," she said, churning her arm through the water as if attempting to push it aside so she could see into it better. "And … I think we may have lost the wine glasses."

"I will buy you a new parasol," Darcy said. "I could dive for it but the river is murky and I do not think it will be easy to find."

"Of course. It is of no moment. Although," she flashed him one of her teasing, provocative looks. "I would enjoy the sight of you diving."

He pulled her down among the cushions and tormented himself some more by kissing her. His desire for her had become acute and she seemed to enjoy making it worse, allowing him liberties with her person and taking the same with his that somehow always stopped short of affording him relief.

"Perhaps I do need a cooling swim," Darcy said in desperation, when he had removed his hand from under her skirts and her hand from his lap for the third time.

"How much farther?" asked Elizabeth, who looked pink and flushed, though it was not particularly hot on the water.

He scanned the banks, marking the landmarks. "Not far now if I pole."

He doubted that he had ever poled faster in any of the races that had taken place at Cambridge during his sojourn. With relief, he saw the marker for their turnoff. Their destination was located along its own stream that fed the Thames, not a quarter of a mile upstream.

When they finally arrived, his men were waiting for them. Darcy registered that the fishing lodge was a beauty spot, with its own pond and dock, but was otherwise insensible to the fine details. He rushed Elizabeth into the lodge - simple but elegant - and into the bedchamber in the back - fine for its purpose. Then he was pressing her against the wall and kissing her and lifting her skirts.

She felt marvelous. Her skin, heated from a day in the sun, felt like rose petals and smelled of honey and meadow flowers. Her breasts were soft yet firm against his chest and her bottom round and full in his hands. She was slick with readiness and gasped and bit his lip when he touched her there. He began with almost giddy relief to unbutton his breeches and then stopped. And realized.

"Elizabeth … I have left the armour in my tailcoat."

"Oh!" She lowered one leg from where it was wrapped around his buttocks and squeezed his shoulders. "Can you retrieve it?"

"Yes. Do not go anywhere."

He kissed her and hurried down to the dock, but despite his frantic demands neither of his footmen had seen his tailcoat. He was beginning to form a terrible suspicion.

When he returned to the bedchamber, she was curled up against the pillows on the bed.

"I cannot find my tailcoat. Do you suppose it was one of the things that went overboard?"

"Oh!" She looked dismayed. She faltered, "Yes … perhaps … it might have been. It was lying on top of the cushions. But do you think it would have sunk so quickly?"

"I had a purse in there with coins, so yes, I think it would have sunk like a stone," he said grimly.

"Could you purchase such a thing anywhere around here?"

"Very unlikely, I would think. I am only aware of two London shops that sell them."

She bit her lip, maddening him further. They sat in silent misery of the acutest kind for a few moments.

"Do you think you could be careful?" she said at last.

"Careful?" he repeated, a glimmer of hope breaking through the dark clouds.

"Yes … careful. To … remove yourself before injury is done."

Could he be careful? He was certain he could be. They had had relations only that morning and he was not a schoolboy.

"Yes. I can be careful."

Her face flowered with relief. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her and unbuttoned her gown and she untied his cravat and began working on the rest of his clothing. He told himself to go slow and take deep breaths, in keeping with their new spirit of _carefulness_. There was no difference in what they were about to do, he thought. The only difference was inconsequential, just a tiny scrap of stuff, a matter of a second or two. It was not impossible to conquer.

Even so, when the moment came, he felt poised on the brink of an enormous, unknown venture. And the moment he was inside of her, he knew he had made a mistake.

She was everywhere, all around him, hot and velvety and intimate. He was aware of her as never before, every shift and twitch sending a signal to his reeling brain that she was now a part of him, fused with his very being.

He attempted to stop, to press her into the mattress and force stillness upon them both until he could fight and regain control of himself. But she was too much for him. Underneath him, she writhed and gasped and gripped him, until despite everything he could do, he felt the powerful storm gathering inside himself.

He tried to pull out then, but as he began his withdrawal, she cried out his name, begging him, and wrapped her legs around him to pull him deeper.

She was close, so close. Surely he could hang on. Surely he could think of other things for a few seconds - parish rates and drainage reports and taxes on Pemberley. Then it occurred to him that if they had married, they would have been at Pemberley, just like this, a part of each other, but it would have been his duty to spill himself into her so that they could mingle themselves and hope to make a future.

The thought was so overwhelming it immediately brought him to the brink again. And in one more final, fateful gesture of her hips, he was over it.

"God!" he cursed, withdrawing himself as quickly as possible. It was physically painful to rip himself from her that way. But he was relieved to see that he seemed to be spilling himself mostly outside of her, on the bedsheet.

He rolled off her and lay, heart thudding, beside her. Had he been in time?

She crawled over to him and hugged him, laying her head on his chest.

"Ohhhh… that was _wonderful_ ," she sighed.

"Was it?"

"Yes, it felt _so_ much better without the protective." She looked at his serious face. "Oh! Was it difficult for you? To have to end it early, I mean."

"Not at all," he lied.

She sighed again and rubbed her soft cheek against him. "Oh good. Do you think we could do it again? Fairly soon?"

She had raised her head to look at him. Her eyes sparkled with a languid fire and her skin glowed with her recent exertions. He wondered what she would feel like without protection, on her knees from behind.

"Of course," he said.

It was a long and difficult night, but not at all unenjoyable from Darcy's point of view.

* * *

 **HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. In 1807, the Earl Fitzwilliam fought a famous battle with the Earl of Harewood, a Tory, to unseat Lord Harewood's son and install his own in the second of the Yorkshire MP seats. Both peers spent over £100,000 each to wine and dine voters and pay their travel expenses to the hustings. The final tally was 11,808 votes for William Wilberforce, the long-time and extremely popular incumbent, 11,177 votes for Lord Milton and 10,990 for the Hon. Henry Lascelles (later Viscount Lascelles). Lascelles was later to remark that he would have preferred if his father had just given him the money.

2\. A member of the Cavendish family held the first of Derbyshire's two county seats from 1734 until this period. Over the same period, the second MP seat was held by a member of a leading Tory family. Unlike some counties, Derbyshire seldom saw a contested election (only four between 1700 and 1832) and typically both seats were won in a no-contest.

3\. A punt was a stable, flat-bottomed craft with squared ends popularly used for fishing on the Thames, sometimes from a chair placed in the punt. Later on in the Victorian era, longer pleasure punts became popular and there are many prints of women with parasols being poled around in luxurious punts.

4\. Tench are muddy green fish, sometimes with red eyes, which are known to put up a good fight on the other end of the fishing pole. Tench prefer still or slow-moving waters with a clay or muddy substrate and are common in England.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	13. Chapter 13 - Lady Sophia

**CHAPTER 13 - LADY SOPHIA**

Jane was the mother of a healthy baby boy. Elizabeth read of it in the newspapers first, then confirmed the information with Susan. News from Jane herself would have to wait, as Sir Henry and Lady Blemmell were not expected to return to Town for another month.

When they finally did return, Elizabeth heard that it was in a grand new coach and six, and that Sir Henry held a lavish dinner with his friends to celebrate the birth of his heir. Seeing Susan for the first time after Jane's return to drop off a missive, Elizabeth was pleased to find two notes awaiting her. The first read:

 _Darling L,_

 _He is the most beautiful babe that was ever seen and I am the happiest woman that ever was. You will know his names from the papers. He was christened for Sir H's family, but I really think he looks like you. Today he smiled and I was reminded of you as a small child, immediately before you did something you had been expressly warned against. How I laughed to see it!_

 _Sir Henry says I may have Mama and my sisters and aunts to visit soon, once he is done parading our boy. I wish you could see him - and that I could see you. Are you well? Does Mr. D continue to show you consideration? Pray tell me how you fare. I miss you dreadfully._

 _Love,_

 _J_

Elizabeth smiled to hear that Jane was doing so well. She wished she could see her sister - but still she felt she could not risk it. Sir Henry's reform and Jane's motherhood was still so new. Perhaps later, when things were more settled. She opened the second letter.

 _Dearest L,_

 _What joy to find all of your notes waiting for me! I read them through quite greedily. But oh Lizzy! How sorry I am to hear that you had such a dreadful summer. It was very unkind of Mr. D to leave you alone for so long with no word of what to expect. I am happy to hear that things have improved somewhat, but thankfully your six months is almost complete and then you will be free again._

 _There has not been a whisper of you since you left. Could we not say you have returned from Scotland and resumed a respectable life here in London? I think once our uncle sees you and realizes you are unchanged, he would be willing to receive you again. Write soon and tell me what you think. Much love,_

 _J_

The second note, assuming she would leave Darcy after six months, made Elizabeth feel guilty and ashamed. She had no intention of leaving Darcy now. She loved him and he loved her. But she had not told Jane this. Instead, she had written to Jane frequently through July after he had left her, complaining of ill usage, then neglected to correct the mistaken impression after his return. She would have to address that immediately.

The thought of Darcy made her smile. He was so handsome, so tender, so … so … _wonderful_. She had last seen him only that morning, when he had risen early to attend to a family engagement. He had had difficulty leaving her, however. One good-bye kiss had to another, and then another, and before long he had climbed back into bed with her. Eventually he had rushed out the door after throwing on his clothing a second time, and his valet had had to bring his cravat, dressing case and shaving items into the carriage to put the finishing touches on his toilette on the way into Town.

She sighed. He was forced to be away from her frequently of late. Lord Liverpool had dropped the writ to dissolve Parliament and trigger an election, bringing everybody back into Town including the Fitzwilliams with Georgiana. Consequently, Darcy was dividing his time.

Although she missed him, she had to admit his absence was convenient. His birthday was in two weeks and she had commissioned Mr. Northcote to paint her portrait as a surprise present. It was nothing extravagant, just a small picture in a case, but she thought he might like it to keep in secret in a drawer somewhere. She was on her way there now for her third sitting.

Mr. Northcote's studio was on Argyll Street, just outside of Mayfair. It was a well-ordered establishment, with assistants and servants to do much of the preparatory work. Immediately upon arrival, she was shown into the studio, where the painter waited in his habitual blue smock and red cap.

They exchanged pleasantries and then he sat down to paint. He liked to work without speaking so she did not try to address him, instead looking around at the unfinished paintings hung around his studio as he worked. Many were large and magnificent, and she knew they must cost hundreds of pounds each. She was amused to realize that one of the risque paintings, a reclining woman in semi-transparent draperies, was Signora Arati, Lord Blake's mistress. At her last sitting, the features had not been so apparent.

Mr. Northcote painted for the greater part of an hour before a servant entered and whispered in his ear.

"Lady Coke? Here now?" he asked. The servant nodded respectfully and he turned to her. "Will you excuse me, my dear? I will return as soon as possible."

"Of course, Mr. Northcote."

Left alone, Elizabeth studied the painting of Signora Arati some more. She wondered with amusement what Darcy would think if she had commissioned a painting such as _that_ for him. Would he be shocked or titillated? Five months ago, she would have said the former, but now she knew better.

As she was musing to herself, the door to the studio opened. Elizabeth quickly resumed her pose, then looked in surprise to see Lord Blake.

He looked astonished as well, then slightly alarmed. Then he laughed.

"Can we safely speak to each other, do you think? Or is Darcy around to cut off my head if I come near you?"

She smiled at his mischievous expression and said, "He is nowhere in the vicinity; I think we are safe. But I think you exaggerate, Lord Blake. I know there was a misunderstanding, but Mr. Darcy has assured me that is all past."

"Even so, I am not sure I should risk it after all I have been through. When I think he could have shot me! Even the bruises took some time to fade …" he trailed off at the look of incomprehension on her face. "Did he not tell you?"

She shook her head in bemusement. "I know nothing of what you speak."

"Oh well! In that case," he said, and fetched a chair and seated himself a few feet from her. He told her the story of the botched duel. She knew she ought to be horrified, but he pulled so many sly faces and dwelt with such particularity on Lord Milton's bedtime garb that she laughed until she cried instead.

"But it is all made up now," he ended. "I borrowed all of his best hunters that he left at Wentworth when he departed for London and he borrowed my fishing lodge."

" _Your_ fishing lodge?" she asked. "A lovely little house by the Thames with a pond and boathouse?"

"Oh, you know it? Oho! That explains it," he chuckled. "He has been pressing me to sell it to him for weeks. So you have an interest in it, do you?"

"Only because I think it a perfectly delightful spot." She and Darcy had returned a number of times to the house by the Thames and it was there that she had finally told him that she loved him.

"Hm. Well, perhaps I will take pity on Darcy and let him have it. Young love, you know, Mrs. Smith."

"I think you may still call me Elizabeth, _especially_ ," she smiled at him persuasively, "if you are willing to sell Mr. Darcy your fishing lodge."

"Well, of course, if you put it like _that_. I will tell Darcy my fishing lodge is conditional upon it."

Elizabeth clasped her hands, laughing in delight. They bantered some more, then Lord Blake said, "By the way, I must congratulate you."

"Thank you. May I ask for what?"

"Darcy. I have never seen a man more besotted. But I knew it would be so when I first met you, did I not? You recall that I predicted greatness for you."

She dimpled. "Is that what passes for greatness in these times? I think it is your predictive powers that you really wish to applaud."

"Be that as it may, you have caused a stir. Nobody knows who you are but me and Fitz, but in a short time you have up-ended Darcy's life and upset not a few other apple carts in the process."

" _I_ have?" she said in astonishment. "In what way?"

"Where to begin?" he said, enjoying himself. He ticked off his fingers. "The Fitzwilliams are horrified that their sober nephew would risk his life for his mistress when he has neither heirs of his name nor body. Lady Catherine de Bourgh is appalled that the hand-selected suitor for her precious daughter shows himself to be just another libertine. The Whig leaders are flummoxed that their great hope to revive their moribund fortunes in the House of Commons has abandoned the Party for his own pleasures. Darcy's tenants and dependents no doubt wonder whence has gone their liberal lord and master … "

He saw her face and paused, then smiled and said, "Oh, come. It is not all bad. You are the toast of the clubs! After Darcy declared to his aunt that he would not give up his mistress, Lady Catherine threw the doors open to other suitors. They line up now with their catalogues of virtue, eager to win Miss de Bourgh's fair hand and even fairer fortune of three or four hundred thousand pounds."

Elizabeth frowned. "I believe Lady Catherine's hope had always been a vain one. Mr. Darcy had no real intentions in that quarter."

"No doubt you would know better than I," he said, inclining his head.

"I do not think there was any real danger from that duel, was there? Surely you would have sorted it out before anybody actually raised their pistol."

"It is devoutly to be hoped," he shuddered slightly.

"And Mr. Darcy has not been gone so very long from Pemberley. What difference can a month or two make?"

"What difference indeed? Let the parishes and the paupers sort themselves out."

"As for the Whig party, I cannot believe one man can do so much."

"That is _my_ opinion. But Lord Fitzwilliam had expected Darcy to take a seat in the House of Commons. And the Whigs have some idea that his debating talents and popularity among both the aristocratic and morally virtuous wings of the Party will heal all divisions." Lord Blake shrugged. "He was not their first hope, in any case - that was William Lamb, who now declares he will not run. Too poor, he says, but we all know the real reason. He is holed up in Ireland with his wife and her mother, attempting to prevent Lady Caroline Lamb from throwing herself back in the arms of her lover, Lord Byron. Ah woman! With one look you lay waste a kingdom."

Elizabeth chewed on her lip furiously. She did not want to be classified with the Lady Caroline Lambs of the world.

Lord Blake looked at her curiously. "What is this, Elizabeth? I thought you would be diverted. That satirical gleam that comes into your eyes at times declares you to be a philosopher, delighting in human follies and conceits."

With an effort, she mustered a smile. "Perhaps I have been guilty of such pleasures, but it has never been my object to undermine what is truly wise and good."

"No?" he raised a sceptical eyebrow at her, and she blushed to think what a silly statement that was from a woman in her position. Nevertheless, she stood her ground.

"No. Whatever I may be myself, I did not intend to injure Mr. Darcy nor anybody else."

"If that be the case, then perhaps you will be in favour of Lady Fitzwilliam's solution to rescue the situation," he said dryly.

"What is that?"

"That Darcy must marry and settle down."

"To someone in particular?" Not her, surely. But her heart beat wildly for a moment.

"To someone very particular. Lady Sophia Fitzroy, the only child of the Earl of Peterborough." He scrutinized her face, gauging a reaction.

"Oh? Why her?" Elizabeth asked with studied indifference.

"She is young, rich and beautiful. But most importantly, neither she nor her father would insist that Darcy give up his mistress. Since that is the sticking point as far as Darcy is concerned, it appears to be a match made in heaven." His tone was ironic.

"Why would she tolerate that, if other women would not?"

"Because Lady Sophia, in addition to having all of the desired blessings, also possesses a fatal flaw: she has a susceptibility for the help, and was discovered one night alone at an inn with a footman. Her father swears that nothing untoward occurred, but nobody is prepared to believe _that_. A marriage to Lord Fitzwilliam's nephew would go a long way toward restoring her honour."

"And Mr. Darcy would marry her?"

"It would solve most of his problems and allow him to keep you, if he is discreet about it."

"I see."

"It would also make him rich," Lord Blake continued. "Not quite as rich as if he married Miss de Bourgh, but still, quite a bit richer than he presently is. Lord Peterborough will no doubt be generous to bring the match about and as he has no heirs, the rest of his fortune will doubtless devolve in the same way. I am sure Darcy could afford to purchase you a fine townhouse. No more farmhouses in Kensington."

Elizabeth had been looking down at her hands in thought. Lord Blake dipped his head to look into her face and said, "You are not going to be miss-ish, are you, Elizabeth? This is no more than the reality that comes with sustaining a great house."

"You feel no need to attempt to love your wife?"

He chuckled. "It is not the fashion to love your wife, nor for her to love you in return. Darcy and Lady Sophia know this. Once he gets himself an heir and a spare, they may go their separate ways, he to you and her to whomever she pleases - her footman, perhaps, Darcy being a more liberal sort than I."

She thought his look was slightly malicious. She raised her chin. "Forgive me, my lord, but I do not understand your interest in this. Why tell me? Do you wish me to thwart these plans or accede to them?"

He smiled. "I will be content with whatever you decide, so long as I can enjoy the spectacle. As for my interest - you know, Darcy can be so insufferably superior. 'Tis agreeable to find a chink in that armour after all."

They were interrupted by a bustle at the door, which turned out to be Mr. Northcote and his servant. He apologized to Elizabeth and greeted Lord Blake with pleasure. Then he told her with regret that he could do no more that day as his next appointment was almost upon him and it did not make sense to re-mix the drying paint.

They made an appointment for her return and she took her leave of both men.

* * *

Darcy was late returning that night, and at twelve o'clock had still not come. His absence gave Elizabeth plenty of time to ponder Lord Blake's words, sitting in her dressing room by herself.

Her first reaction had been one of repulsion. Darcy with another woman? Intolerable. Every feeling revolted. But as she thought about it, she saw its sense, from a worldly perspective, and why Lady Fitzwilliam might advance such an idea.

She knew he must marry in the not too distant future; she had told herself so repeatedly when she feared her feelings were becoming too strong. He was the last of his line and the Darcy name would die with him if he did not produce an heir.

She knew also that he could not marry her. Oh once, when she had been respectable, he might have married the former daughter of a country gentleman and braved the scorn and contempt of his world. But a woman of low virtue, a fallen woman, made the niece of the Earl Fitzwilliam and connection to the most eminent lords and graces in the land? Absurd. What had Darcy said of her - that she had _defiled_ his family?

She saw how it could not be borne. She was not willing to bear it herself, knowing that she would be a shame and reproach to him every day of their lives if she married him. But it seemed that she had no need to worry about that - not once since she had become his mistress had the possibility of a renewed proposal passed his lips.

When she had thought of the future, it had been vague and unformed. But one thing she had known: she had not expected anything long-term. She had not allowed herself to. Love, unlooked-for, was a blessing for as long as it lasted, but she had been careful not to depend on it. Freedom and independence had been the most she would ask.

Following her discussion with Lord Blake, however, she allowed herself to consider a future for the first time. Lord Blake had said that Lord Peterborough would accept her in exchange for the repair to Lady Sophia's reputation. It was the standard aristocratic union, with a key difference. There would be no lies or evasions and no false lovemaking required of anyone. The parties would go into it with their hearts untouched and their eyes open.

A union of this kind would assist Darcy, increasing his wealth and influence. She did not like the idea that she had brought him low. Lady Catherine was no concern of hers - she knew Darcy had no serious interest in Anne de Bourgh. But she did not want to be the woman who had tarnished his reputation, caused him to neglect his estate and resulted in the abandonment of his political ideals and goals. Looked at this way, was Lady Sophia not an answer to all of their hopes?

As if in response to her question, she heard the sound of a carriage in the yard and looked out the window. It was Darcy in his coach and four. She heard him enter the house below, then take the stairs three at a time.

"Elizabeth!" he called quietly from the landing.

She came out to greet him. He was dressed elegantly for dinner in a black tailcoat and silk waistcoat with matching breeches and hose.

"I am sorry I am so late. If it had been only myself, I would have made excuse to get away, but with Lady Fitzwilliam and Georgiana with me, I could not do so without giving offence."

"Of course. It is no matter." She kissed him on the cheek.

"What did you do today?" he asked.

She gave evasive reply, then asked him the same.

"Visiting the whole time. Lady Fitzwilliam cultivates a new friendship with a man who holds one of the Tory boroughs, hoping she can turn it to the Whig cause. We went out to his estate to see him and his daughter and view his new gardens."

She felt a hand squeeze her heart. Could it be - ? But she only smiled warmly and told him she would meet him in the bedchamber after his valet had seen to him.

A few minutes later, he entered, clean-shaven and wearing a nightshirt. He climbed into bed with her, pulled her into his arms, and sighed.

"I will be glad when this election is over and I can see you more often."

She tucked her head under his chin and said, not looking at him, "Will you? But you will still have family duties, will you not? Your family cannot be pleased to see so little of you."

He pulled away so he could look at her and chuckled. "They are not. Georgiana and Lady FItzwilliam complain daily of my neglect."

"And then you must return to Pemberley. It is a poor thing to be an absentee landlord."

He squeezed her. "Thank you for understanding that. Yes, I must return for at least a month this autumn, to host the harvest festival and open the hunt. My cousin Milton and the Duke of Devonshire also beg assistance with the election, a loan of all my carriages and servants to transport their supporters to the hustings and help keep them there for the duration of the voting. But I thought you might come with me."

She kept her eyes on his shirt, plucking at the soft linen. "Did you never wish to run yourself? You have taken such an interest."

"I would have stood for Derbyshire the last time the writ was dropped, had not the responsibility for Pemberley and my sister fallen into my hands just then. There are causes to fight for, crucial reforms I would like to see made. But it is too consuming an endeavour. The price is too high and the time is not right."

Because of her? Elizabeth pulled herself from his arms and sat up. She changed the subject abruptly.

"Whose house were you at today?"

He smiled at her and sat up as well, pulling her closer with his hand about her waist. "The Earl of Peterborough's and his daughter, Lady Sophia. He has a fine estate in Surrey."

"What is she like?"

"Quite a pretty girl, between your age and my sister's, but mature for her years. There is no harm in her. But she has had some - trouble lately."

"Oh? Of what kind?"

His face changed, became shaded. "She suffered an indiscretion with a servant this spring, and since then her father has kept her at home, even though she has been presented at court."

"That is unfortunate."

"Yes, it is. Her present state is pitiable, as is her father's. If he had married her to any one of the innumerable fortune hunters willing to redeem her honour, she would be secure in society by now. But he has not been able to bring himself to do so and still hopes for something better for his only child. What she needs is a decent man who is willing to look past such superficial considerations and see the true worth that lies beneath."

He spoke warmly and with indignation. She changed the subject again, and they talked of more innocuous topics. After a few minutes, his patience with conversation was exhausted and he began kissing her and tugging up her gown, to signal his energy for other things.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. The House of Commons emerged as the major law-making organ in this period. Some peers were able to exert disproportionate influence through their ownership of most of the land or property in a parliamentary borough, a municipality granted a Royal Charter that gave them one or two seats in the House of Commons. Meanwhile, since new towns had not been granted Royal Charters for centuries, there emerged a system in which large cities with sixty thousand residents might not have representation while a town with less than a dozen eligible voters did. This system did not change until the advent of Parliamentary reform, beginning in 1832.

2\. The Earl Fitzwilliam was known as one of the greatest borough proprietors in England, and the most influential of the Whig borough proprietors. According to John Wilson Croker, as of 1827, he had influence or control over 8 of the 54 Whig borough seats, followed by Lord Lonsdale with 7, the Duke of Devonshire with 7 and the Duke of Norfolk with 6. These seats were exceptionally valuable in allowing a borough proprietor to hand-select the men he wanted to represent his interests in the House of Commons, and also to give shelter to candidates for county elections who failed to win their seats. Because of the great cost of contested county elections, a borough patron might be the only means for a politically ambitious but not wealthy man to seek a seat in the House of Commons.

3\. The Whigs suffered from internal division and ineffective leadership in the House of Commons under George Ponsonby in this period. Generally, there were three main groups: conservative Whigs known as "Grenvillites" after Lord Grenville; idealistic aristocratic Whigs known as Foxites after Charles James Fox, now led by the 2nd Earl Grey; and Radical and reform-minded Whigs led by Samuel Whitbread who supported Parliamentary reform, abolition of slavery, improved working conditions, suppression of vice and other socially progressive causes. Lacking any notable borough patrons, this latter group had strong popular support but only limited representation in the Commons.

4\. William Lamb was indeed the hope for the future of the party, at least among some of the Whig leaders, but his attentions were arguably consumed by the increasingly erratic behaviour of his wife, Lady Caroline. After her disastrous and public attempt to run away with Lord Byron (which Byron himself thwarted by insisting that his friend Cam Hobhouse remain on the premises when she showed up at his private lodgings), she was spirited off to Ireland with her parents, the Earl and Countess of Bessborough, where she and her husband remained for several months. Lamb's mother, Lady Melbourne, was incensed over her favourite son's derailed political career.

© 2017-18 by "LucyQ" at and "LucyQT" at - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	14. Chapter 14 - Decisions

**CHAPTER 14 - DECISIONS**

He was forced to absent himself from her for the rest of the week, leaving early in the day and not returning until late at night or even the next morning.

Throughout the week, she had questioned him, as unobtrusively as possible, to discern how often he saw Lady Sophia. The answer appeared to be constantly, thanks to the Whigs' assiduous wooing of Lord Peterborough and his borough interest.

Of the lady herself, his attitude seemed to be one of compassion and sympathy, apparently brought about by Lady Fitzwilliam's presentation of the situation to him. Nothing untoward had actually occurred between Lady Sophia and the footman, Lady Fitzwilliam had told him; she was the victim of scurrilous rumour; and leaving aside the minor indiscretion, she herself was all that was good and kind and virtuous. Elizabeth had to admire Lady FItzwilliam's adroit handling. It displayed far more tact and skill than Lady Catherine was capable of.

On Saturday morning, he told her he would not see her that night as he was needed at Lady Fitzwilliam's dinner, ball and supper in Grosvenor Square. However, he had refused all Sunday engagements so that they could spend the day in an excursion to the country, perhaps exploring the towns further up the Thames.

Elizabeth smiled brightly when he kissed her good-bye, but inwardly felt despondent at another day without his company. Shortly after he left, she wrapped herself against the chill of October and embarked upon a long tramp through the nearby woods and farms.

The day was grey, but the trees were bright with orange and gold and she could not help marvelling at their picturesque beauty. She waved at the workers out in the fields who had learnt to recognize her as a neighbour, and a few times stopped to chat with a farm woman or labourer. When she returned to the farmhouse, she felt slightly cheered.

After an early dinner, she ordered the carriage for a trip to Town, hoping to seek further diversion.

Jane's street was quiet, but from the numerous figures that could be seen moving within her townhouse, it appeared that Lady Blemmell was receiving guests. She wondered if it was any of her family. How she wished she could run up the steps and be let in as of old! But it was not possible.

She did not ask James to stop at Susan's flower stall. Her last inquiry had been too recent and in any case, the news appeared to be unchanged. Instead, she asked him to turn west to Audley Street, where Darcy's favourite bookshop was situated.

She managed to distract herself for a time, browsing through the new selections and wondering which ones Darcy would be interested in. Paying for her purchases, she exited onto the street, then checked her pocket watch and realized she still had more than a quarter of an hour before the appointed time that James was to bring the carriage around. What should she do now?

Briefly, she considered the shop across the way offering ices and confections. Then she looked further down the road. It opened onto Grosvenor Square, where Darcy was to attend Lady Fitzwilliam's dinner and ball. It was six o'clock now, the time when the guests were to begin arriving. Should she go to see, just out of curiosity?

She walked toward the grand square, lined with the townhouses of the noble and wealthy, then set her path for #4 Grosvenor Square at the east end of the square. It was Lord Fitzwilliam's townhouse, the largest in the development, a mansion with twice as much frontage as most of its neighbours.

It was a sight to be seen, and a crowd had gathered to see it. Before the house, a long line of new and wealthy carriages snaked down the street, their embroidered hammercloths and silver fittings shining bright in the gloom. Behind every carriage rode handsome, liveried footmen who detached themselves smartly to open the doors for the glittering personages within once the carriage drew near the front of the line.

The house itself was lit as if on a stage. Light from crystal chandeliers, silver wall sconces and a thousand wax candles poured from its handsome plate glass windows. Long rows of footmen, their livery stiff with embroidery and gold braid, lined the steps and walkway leading to the main street. They held up glowing lanterns and kept the rabble back.

But the centre of the scene was the little group under the handsome, pillared portico. Dignified and kindly, Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam presided at the top of the marble stairs to welcome their guests as they arrived. Beside them stood another couple, a generation younger but no less kindly and distinguished. Elizabeth guessed from Darcy's description that this was Lord and Lady Milton. Then there was Colonel Fitzwilliam, impressive in dress regimentals, and lastly she saw Darcy.

Her eye would have been drawn to him at the first if she had not resisted it. His height and beauty must be the natural trajectory of every gaze in the crowd. He was resplendent in a rich blue coat, silk waistcoat and snowy cravat, towering over his family and the guests. In this setting, his proud bearing did not seem superior and haughty, but lordly and perfectly in place.

She felt a few drops of rain, then a few more, and then a light drizzle began. On the stone steps, the footmen hurried to bring out umbrellas to protect the hairstyles and fine attire of the Fitzwilliams' distinguished guests before they made the safety of the portico. In the street, the crowd shifted and then re-settled, as everybody deemed the spectacle worth a bit of wet. Elizabeth swept a damp tendril from her forehead and did not remove her gaze.

A handsome coach drawn by six perfectly matched carriage horses pulled to the front of the line. With a sense of inevitability, Elizabeth recognized the coat of arms emblazoned on the doors: silver and red, chevron between three stars, knight's head crest and eagles supporting. It was the Earl of Peterborough and his daughter.

On the steps, Lady Fitzwilliam went over and touched Darcy's arm and indicated the coach. He nodded at his aunt, helped himself to an umbrella held by a footman, then unfurled it and descended with quick steps. Just as he arrived, a footman opened the carriage door and another unfolded the steps down to the ground and then stepped back to stand at attention.

A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd as a girl emerged from the carriage. She was young and slender and lovely, with a heart-shaped face and pale gold hair coiled and bound by a jewelled fillet. She wore a short cape of cream wool trimmed in softest sable, and underneath, her gown was the finest white silk, embroidered all over with gold. Against the grey of the evening, she shone like a star.

She gave Darcy her hand as she alighted from the carriage and he drew her into the protective cover of his umbrella. He bent his head to her and said something, causing her to turn her face to him and smile, her eyes wide and trusting and happy.

Behind her, Lord Peterborough emerged and Darcy turned back to him, but he waved the couple forward with a friendly and impatient hand as he accepted the cover of an umbrella held by a footman.

The rain fell harder and Darcy drew Lady Sophia further under the umbrella, drawing her arm through his with what seemed to Elizabeth to be a tender and protective air. She clung to his arm and said something with a teasing smile and he responded with a few words that caused her to blush and then laugh. As they mounted the steps together, Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam came down to greet Lord Peterborough, and the trio of nobles hovered over the handsome pair like benevolent gods, granting their blessing.

Elizabeth had seen enough. She fought her way out of the crowd and retraced her steps. The drizzle had become a downpour. In Audley Street, she picked her way through the mass of huddled or hurrying humanity, trying in vain to avoid the soupy mess the rain had made of the streets and the torrents of filthy water being splashed up by the wheels of speeding carriages. By the time she approached the vicinity of the bookshop, her bonnet was soaked through and her gown and pelisse were splattered with mud and offal.

James, who had been peering into the gloom for her, muttered an oath when he saw her and hurried to open the door of the carriage and usher her inside. She sat down gratefully on the dry cushions. As the carriage began moving, she removed her wet bonnet, found her wet handkerchief and mopped her face, which was now streaming. A bit of water slid onto her lip and she put her tongue out to taste it. Surprisingly, it was warm and a little salty. But of course it was rain. Just rain.

* * *

Many, many hours later, she lay on her side in their bed, staring at the empty space where Darcy usually slept. Her pillow was wet, but her eyes were now dry.

She had been a fool, a double-dyed fool. She had thought she had tamped down her feelings, that she could either extricate herself unscathed or stand by dispassionately as he married another woman. She was wrong.

What had she thought, that it would be a tepid affair? That they would come together twice a year to do their conjugal duty, then part again to live out their lives in separate wings of the manor? That they would speak only to discuss the servants and social functions?

Darcy was not formed for that and, having seen her, Elizabeth knew that Lady Sophia was not either. She was no coolly calculating sophisticate, no artful, heartless social climber. She was a flesh-and-blood young woman, hopeful of love and happiness as every woman was. She had a heart to give. How long could Darcy resist that?

She saw how it would be. He would enter the union fully intending to keep his heart for her, Elizabeth. He would resist Lady Sophia's influence, attempt to ration their conjugal encounters and deny any attachment. But gradually, over time, he would experience the soft pull, feel himself becoming attached despite himself. How could it be otherwise with his wife and the mother of his children? Whether he learnt to love her at first or at last, he would learn to love her.

And what would happen to her, Elizabeth, when this happened? Would she sink quietly into insignificance? Would she struggle against it at every step? And if the latter, how could she fight it? By turning to base tricks and stratagems, or attacking another woman purely for the unpardonable sin of possessing blessings that she lacked? Or turning shrew to cut up Darcy's peace as revenge for her own pain?

On the bed, Elizabeth turned her face into the pillow and writhed, clutching the cover and kicking the mattress. She could not stand it, she would not do it. But what option did she have?

As the night wore on and Darcy did not come, she became calmer. She knew what she had to do. She had told Lord Blake she had two choices, encourage the marriage or fight it, but she had been wrong. There was a third option.

* * *

It was after six o'clock in the morning when Darcy finally came home. By then Elizabeth had cried herself to sleep, woken up, and cried herself back to sleep again. When she heard him enter the house and move quietly around his dressing room to undress, she woke again, staring into the darkness. But when he came to bed and tried to take her into his arms, she rolled over and pretended to be asleep.

He slept until the afternoon. By then, Elizabeth had breakfasted, taken herself for a walk and returned. She found him at breakfast, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He looked tired, but when he saw her, he smiled.

"I am sorry I slept so late, but there is still plenty of time to go into the country. As soon as I finish my coffee, we can go."

"It is no matter, I do not wish to go anymore."

"Are you certain? I thought you had looked forward to it."

"No, I … I think I would prefer a quiet day at home. And you look tired."

He stifled a yawn. "I am tired, and I confess I would enjoy a day at home. But if you wish to go I can manage."

She disclaimed again and he gave in with relief.

They read the newspapers in silence, sitting on the sofa. After another cup of coffee, Darcy looked a little more alert. Presently, he put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed them. "I have a surprise for you."

She looked up at him. "Do you? What is it?"

He chuckled. "I suppose I should not tell you yet, as it is premature and not yet mine to give. But having aroused your curiosity, I think I may be excused. Lord Blake has offered the fishing lodge to me for purchase and I intend to accept his terms."

"The fishing lodge?"

"You have not forgotten it already?" he said mockingly.

"I have not forgotten. But … why do you wish to purchase it?"

"I thought you enjoyed it. Every time we have gone there, you have raved about its beauty."

"It is beautiful. But you should not purchase it for _my_ enjoyment. Only if it is something you wish to possess for yourself."

"It is. I have very special memories bound up in it now." He smiled at her. "I suspect Lord Blake knew that because the price he offered me was astronomical, even for these times. Any other time, I would have thrown it back at him, but in this case he has me over a barrel."

She felt her stomach drop as if at a portent of doom, then said, "When do you plan to tell him?"

"Immediately. I thought I would write him today. If not, I will see him tomorrow at Lord Holland's."

"I see."

He looked at her curiously. "I thought you would be happier with my news. Does it not please you?"

"I … of course. But … " she hesitated, then took a deep breath. "There is something I must tell you before you make any commitment about the fishing lodge."

"Yes?"

She took another deep breath, faltered under his fond gaze, then blurted it out.

"I will not be continuing our arrangement past six months."

His face drained of colour and he went perfectly still. " _What_?"

Her fingers clutched the skirt of her gown and she whispered, "I am sorry."

"Is there another man?" His voice was fierce.

She looked up at him. "What? No!"

"Then why? Why, Elizabeth?"

He took her hands in his and looked at her searchingly. She shook her head. "It is not … not a good idea. We are too different, you and I. We occupy different worlds."

"You were content with our differences up until today."

"But you knew it could not last forever. I cannot give you what you need."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said in a choked voice, "You do not know that. If you would only trust me, give me time. Perhaps we can find a way to make it work - "

She shook her head emphatically. "I have no interest in making it work in that way. I am certain of that."

At her words, he dropped her hands abruptly and stood up and began pacing. "Why?" he asked again. "Why now, when you were willing to make the attempt before? What caused you to change your mind?"

She shook her head. "I have never changed my mind. You recall I said from the beginning I could guarantee you six months only."

He went pale again, this time with anger. "So all this time you have been biding your time, waiting for the termination point?"

She winced. "No, it was not like that."

"What is it like then, Elizabeth? Tell me. What was this to you? A game? A diversion? A joke?"

"None of those things! You know that. You know my feelings for you."

"You told me that you loved me." His voice was hard and accusing.

"I do! I do love you -"

"You do not know what love is," he said flatly.

At that, she became angry. "Do you think this is easy for me?" she cried. "Do you think I want this? But you must marry, you need heirs and a wife who can assist you in your endeavours."

"Thank you for the reminder," he said dryly.

"I am doing this for you! How can you say I do not love you? I am doing this _because_ I love you. If we do not end it soon, it will only hurt more. I could not bear it."

"You are all consideration."

At the bitter sarcasm in his voice, she felt the lump growing in her throat and the tears stinging her eyes. She swallowed one and blinked against the other.

"Please," she implored, coming up to him and putting her hands on his arm. "Please … we still have one more month. Let us not spoil it with anger and recriminations. Let us make it as happy as possible so we have something to remember when we part."

She wanted him to take her into his arms and tell her it would be well; she wanted to hear him say that he loved her. They had so little time left and the memories must last her a lifetime. But he did neither of those things. Instead, he continued to stand with his back to her, one hand covering his face while the other was balled in a fist at his side. After a while, he turned to face her. His face was rigidly expressionless.

"You are certain you do not wish to continue?"

She blinked back tears. "Yes."

"There is no hope? You will not change your mind?"

She bowed her head and shook it. "I cannot."

He nodded, shook her hand off his arm and walked swiftly to the door.

"Where are you going?" she cried.

"Out."

"When … when will you return?"

"You will hear from me by tomorrow," he said.

He slammed the door as he left.

* * *

He did not return that night, but as she had expected it, she was not unduly worried. Still, it distressed her to think of one night lost when so few remained. She thought of what they might do with their remaining time. She would like to travel somewhere to where nobody would know them and there would be no outside distractions.

A messenger came early the next morning. He bore a note in Darcy's handwriting, informing her that he had arranged a meeting with their attorneys to discuss the final arrangements of their agreement and asking her to attend.

She was relieved. It seemed that Darcy had bowed to the inevitable and was prepared to be practical about it.

The meeting was at the chambers of his attorney, Mr. Hicks. When the servant ushered her in, she saw that both Mr. Hicks and her own attorney, Mr. Offerton, were already present, as was Darcy. He sat beside Mr. Hicks, and in front of his attorney was a stack of documents, several pens and a corresponding number of ink wells. She took her seat beside Mr. Offerton.

Mr. Hicks spoke, addressing Elizabeth and Mr. Offerton. "Thank you both for coming here today on short notice. My client and I appreciate it."

Elizabeth nodded. Mr. Offerton looked at the stack of documents curiously. Mr. Hicks slid them across the table.

"In there, you will see the notice as well as the requisite number of copies of the form of deed of settlement and the full and final release form for Miss Bennet's signature. As you can see, my client has fulfilled every single one of the original terms of the agreement including the severance payment, which is very generous considering the brevity of the term. Consequently, I do not expect an issue, but please take a moment to review the forms. If you approve, we can sign and have you on your way."

"I do not understand," Elizabeth said as Mr. Offerton began looking through the documents, scanning the close-written writing. She looked at Darcy, but he only looked away, refusing to meet her eyes. His mouth was a bitter line. She turned to Mr. Hicks. "What is happening?"

Mr. Hicks replied, "Mr. Darcy is serving notice of termination, ending your arrangement and paying you out. Your relationship is over, Miss Bennet. You owe each other no further obligation. You only have to sign to receive the final payment."

And as she looked at him, stunned and open-mouthed, he pushed a pen and inkwell across the table to her.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. The 4th Earl Fitzwilliam inherited a long lease to #4 Grosvenor Square in Mayfair, London, from his uncle, the 2nd Marquess of Rockingham. One of the premier townhouse addresses in London at that time, his neighbours included other extremely wealthy noblemen and aristocrats including the Duke of Beaufort, the Marquess of Bath, the Earl of Bridgewater, the Earl of Derby, the Duke of Montrose, the Earl of Shaftesbury, the Earl of Plymouth and others, most with incomes in the mid to high tens of thousands. The Earl Fitzwilliam had an estimated income from his estates in Ireland and England of approximately £110,000 a year. #4 Grosvenor Square is now the site of the Italian embassy.

© 2017-18 by "LucyQ" at and "LucyQT" at - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	15. Chapter 15 - Reflections

**CHAPTER 15 - REFLECTIONS**

"I do not want it."

Elizabeth's statement made all of the men look at her with sudden attention and - on the attorneys' part - astonishment.

"You are waiving your right to the severance? You do not want the two thousand pounds?" Mr. Hicks asked eagerly.

"That is correct," said Elizabeth.

"Now hold on," Mr. Offerton interposed. "My client is not waiving anything. She is clearly entitled -"

"She waived it. You heard her. She does not want it."

"She does not yet understand the ramifications. She cannot know what she wants. I insist upon an opportunity to discuss -"

"I understand perfectly," Elizabeth interrupted Mr. Offerton but looked at Darcy, who met her gaze steadily. "I do not want it. Mr. Darcy's termination was not entirely voluntarily, therefore it is not fair for me to take it."

"Miss Bennet, please - we should discuss before you make an irrevocable decision -"

"That is very wise and commendable of you, Miss Bennet -"

"Kindly stop advising _my_ client!" Mr. Offerton yelled, rising to his feet in indignation.

"Perhaps you should start representing the wishes of _your_ client -" Mr. Hicks fired back, also standing.

"Gentlemen, I would like a moment alone with Miss Bennet."

The attorneys fell silent at Darcy's voice. Mr. Hicks turned to him and bowed courteously.

"Of course, Mr. Darcy. I shall be in my chambers just outside when you are ready to continue."

Mr. Offerton hesitated, looking at Elizabeth. "You do not have to agree, Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy has no right to insist on it and I am happy to remain."

She glanced up at her attorney. "No, it is well. Please … if you could wait outside the door, I will call you when we are ready to proceed."

Mr. Offerton nodded. The door clicked shut behind him. Left alone, Darcy looked at Elizabeth, sitting across the table from him. Her demeanour was polite but impersonal. It seemed she had recovered from her initial shock.

"Take the money, Elizabeth," he said.

"I thank you, but no."

"You are entitled to it. Our agreement states that if I terminate, I shall pay you another two thousand pounds."

"It is _I_ who terminated. I informed you that I did not wish to continue."

"Regardless, the money is yours."

"Not in law," she said. "Nor in justice."

"In law and justice. The contract spells out the terms; this is one of them. The effective date of my termination precedes yours, and therefore I must pay the money and you must take it."

"I believe the recipient always retains the right to waive the benefit."

Darcy shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. This was not working out as he had hoped. He had sought to wound her and also to teach her a lesson: If she only wanted him for his money, she would have his money but nothing more - neither warmth nor friendship nor tenderness - and see how she liked it. But she had turned the tables on him rather neatly with her refusal.

"Two thousand pounds is nothing to me. Take it. It is customary for a mistress to be given a pension if she does not go immediately to another protector."

"Thank you, I will make do with my three thousand pounds," she said, referring to the payment for the first six months, which had long ago been put into trust for her, and which would automatically become hers at the end of the term.

He saw the proud lift of her chin and knew there would be no forcing her. It also dawned on him painfully that no matter how deeply she had wounded him, he loved her still, loved everything about her, including her pride and refusal to meet the world on anybody's terms but her own. Even if it meant she was rejecting him, again.

"Good god," he muttered. He dropped his face into his hands so she would not see him humiliate himself. When he felt he had regained control, he looked at her again. "Elizabeth." His voice shook slightly and he paused to take a breath to steady it. "Take it. I want you to have it. Three thousand pounds is not enough for you to live on, not in any comfort."

He saw her face soften and added, "Please take it. It will help me to know that you have it. It might," he said with a small smile, "save me _one_ sleepless night out of two."

"You truly wish for me to have it?" she said, and her tone of surprise shamed him.

"Yes. If you ever really loved me at all, you will take it."

The sight of the tears glimmering in her beautiful eyes made him long to take her into his arms and kiss them away. But no, that was what he no longer had the right to do. At her tiny nod of acceptance, he rose and opened the door to the attorneys. They were standing there arguing, but at the sight of his face they immediately fell silent.

"Are you ready for us, Mr. Darcy?" his attorney asked.

"We are ready, gentlemen."

They re-seated themselves and looked expectant.

"Miss Bennet will sign," Darcy said.

Beside him, Mr. Hicks sighed regretfully, but acquiesced. Mr. Offerton laid out the papers, passing them to Elizabeth as he finished reviewing each one and showing her where to affix her signature. Mr. Hicks stated that the horses and carriage were Miss Bennet's to keep and that she was welcome to continue to make use of the farmhouse and servants, which were paid for to the end of six months. In a few more minutes, everything was done, the copies apportioned and Mr. Hicks was seeing them all out.

At the door, Darcy paused and turned to Elizabeth. She was still tearful, but when she saw him looking, she blinked, gave him a watery smile and then held out her hand for him to shake.

"Good-bye, Mr. Darcy. I wish you very happy," she said.

He pressed her hand and said, as soon as he could trust his voice, "Good-bye, Miss Bennet. God bless you."

* * *

The next two weeks were a blur. Determined to lose himself in work, Darcy departed for Pemberley to deal with his long-neglected estate affairs. On the way, he wrote to Lord Fitzwilliam and Lord Milton to ask them what they needed by way of assistance in the county elections. From Yorkshire, Lord Milton wrote that it was unclear what would happen. Wilberforce, who had led in the last election, had announced his retirement, but a new candidate, James Wortley, the grandson of an earl, had stepped forward and Lascelles, Lord Milton's Tory arch-rival, was undecided. Milton asked him to remain in Derbyshire but be prepared to muster at a moment's notice.

Darcy remained at Pemberley. He rose early and worked like a horse, reviewing accounts and estimates, approving leases and variances, and meeting with tenants and parish officers. His steward was beside himself with delight.

In the evenings, he drank. With company, if possible - uncharacteristically, he accepted almost every dinner invitation that came his way - but alone if not. His valet had standing orders to ensure his bedside was well supplied with bottles so that if he returned home still capable of rational thought, he could complete the journey to merciful oblivion.

Even so, it was not sufficient distraction. Consequently he was pleased when word came from Yorkshire that Lascelles would stand and the full election machine of Wentworth House would be fired up in aid of Lord Milton. Darcy was bound for his uncle's seat within the hour.

There followed a week of frantic activity, with political agents coming and going from the great house at all hours. Darcy himself travelled the length and breadth of Yorkshire to canvass the county, delivering thirty-eight speeches in seven days in support of the Fitzwilliam interest. Uncaring as to both cheers and jeers, he spoke with unfettered fire, then drank himself into a stupor with supporters in the evening fêtes that followed.

One night, while staying at a large inn, he or his valet forgot to bar the door before he passed out, and he found his rooms invaded in the middle of the night by the buxom chambermaid who had helped bring up the hot water for his bath. Somehow he managed to make known that her advances were not welcome - or perhaps he was simply too drunk to respond. In any case, he vaguely recollected her withdrawal from the room in anger.

On the eve of polling, Wortley withdrew from the race, complaining bitterly about the expense. He took up a family borough seat still being kept warm for him and Milton and Lascelles took the two county seats unopposed.

Darcy made it through most of the victory fête without incident. After supper, however, he quarrelled with Lord Milton and then Lord Fitzwilliam over their weak-kneed stance on Parliamentary reform. In the yelling match that ensued, he either volunteered or was asked to leave. In any case, he found himself escorted out to his carriage a few minutes later by his cousin while his uncle and aunt stood in long discussion with Darcy's servants. He prayed that the look in Lord Milton's eyes as he closed the carriage door on him was not pity.

The ride back to Pemberley was hell. It appeared somebody had confiscated the liquor stashed in his carriage and his coachman refused to stop at any of the inns along the way to demand they open up to sell him more. His servants did stop once to allow him to be sick in the bushes that lined the roadside, then bundled him back into the carriage. He rode the rest of the way with a throbbing head, reeking with sick and full of self-loathing. The only silver lining was that Elizabeth could not see him now.

At Pemberley, the household was awake for the next day and his servants stood ready to assist him. Nevertheless, he insisted he was lucid and proved it by walking most of the way to his chambers on his own. By the time he was cleaned up, undressed and between the cool, dry sheets, he was beginning to sober. He lay on his large, empty bed and stared out into the darkness, finally forced to confront the awful reality that Elizabeth was gone.

* * *

Next morning, Darcy woke early, reached for the bottle at his bedside table and stopped. He turned over on his back and looked up at the canopy instead. The pain in his heart made the one in his head shrink to nothingness.

For the first time since he had left her, he allowed himself to think of her. How her eyes laughed when she teased him and flashed when she challenged him. How she liked to curl up against him with her book, her feet tucked under her and her head leaning on his shoulder. The tiny skip in her step on brisk days, as if she was just barely restraining herself from breaking into a run.

He would never wake again to the happiness of her sleeping peacefully beside him, elflocks tumbled across the pillow. He would never feel the curve of her soft cheek in his hand as she leant in to kiss him or hear the tenderness in her voice when she told him she loved him. She would not sit across from him at the breakfast-table, read the morning newspaper over his shoulder or smile at him as she poured his tea. She would no longer take his arm when they walked or slip her hand into his when they stopped to study the clouds or a flower. He would never again be allowed to see her as no others saw her, never again touch her as nobody else might touch her, never hold her while she cried out his name and trembled with passion in his arms.

It was over. For the rest of his life, it would not come again.

He felt the tears running out of the corner of his eyes and let them run. They slid into his hair until it was soaked, until the pillow underneath was wet.

He did not know how long he stayed like that, but after a while, he was aware that he was no longer crying and his head no longer hurt. Instead, he only felt drained and empty. He took a deep breath, counted to one hundred slowly, and then forced himself to get out of bed.

"Good morning, sir, I hope you are well?" His valet fluttered around him nervously, solicitously.

"Perfectly well, Roberts, do not trouble yourself."

In the halls, his servants eyed him surreptitiously and looked relieved to find the crisis past. At breakfast, his butler, inquired tactfully after his health.

"There is nothing the matter with me, Mr. Rhodes. Thank you for your assistance last night and please convey my apologies to the staff for any untoward behaviour these last two weeks."

"Not at all, sir. I imagine many things are a little disordered during the excitement of an election. We are only glad to see you back at Pemberley."

After breakfast, he retired to his study. Passing through the library on the way, he found his secretary, Henry Ogden, perusing a book. An elderly negro who had been in the Darcy family's service since he had been a young slave boy, Ogden had appointed himself librarian of the Darcy collection some years back. Darcy suspected it was so he could order some of the books he wanted to read himself, but Darcy did not mind. The man had good taste.

"How do you feel today, sir?" Ogden inquired, closing his book and peering at Darcy with bright, intelligent eyes in his creased face.

"Fine," Darcy said shortly. Were they all going to ask him the same damned question?

Ogden did not take notice of his temper. He had known three generations of the family and Darcy himself since he was a babe in swaddling clothes so he did not stand in great awe of him.

"There were several notices of your speeches in the newspapers, and some of them reprinted passages of what you said," Ogden said. "They were very good. I have clipped them for you."

"I hardly knew what I was saying."

"Then you speak well off the cuff. Perhaps you should let go a little more often."

Darcy laughed mirthlessly. "Letting go" had been the genesis of his quarrel with his uncle. Apparently in a number of his speeches, he had come out too strongly in favour of Parliamentary reform, the redistribution of MP seats from rotten boroughs where the dominant landowner could force the few voters to vote in his interest to large cities where tens of thousands of people were without a voice. Lord Fitzwilliam, the most powerful of the Whig borough patrons, had not been impressed and Lord Milton, while he agreed with Darcy in private, made certain never to contradict his father in public.

"My uncle did not agree," he said with a wry smile.

"A man must sometimes be ruled by his own conscience and not those of his ancestors or relations."

Darcy nodded. Elizabeth had said something similar to him once. They passed through the library into his study at one end of it and Ogden began laying out the correspondence into neat piles - business, political and social. Darcy reviewed them, sorting out his thoughts for response. Midway through, he stopped and asked, "Henry, would you say I am a good man?"

Ogden looked up at him, surprised. "Every member of your family that I have had the privilege to serve have been excellent men, Mr. Darcy. With all due respect to Lord Fitzwilliam, even he does not have the monopoly on virtue."

Darcy smiled faintly. He had not been thinking of Lord Fitzwilliam. "You preferred my great-uncle, I think."

Ogden's face softened. "Lord Darcy taught me my letters and arranged for my education. He also manumitted me as soon as I reached my majority. There were not many men who would free a slave at the beginning of his useful life and not the end. This was before Lord Mansfield's ruling, remember." Lord Mansfield had ruled in 1772 that English law did not recognize the existence of slavery, resulting in the immediate freedom of some fourteen thousand slaves in England and Wales.

Darcy played absent-mindedly with a silver letter-opener. "Yes, he held advanced views for his time."

"As your father did. He stood with the first of the abolitionists in the House of Commons, you know. It was how he came to Lady Anne's notice."

Darcy nodded. "Yes, I have heard that story."

His mother had told it to him. As a new MP for Derbyshire, Mr. Darcy had delivered his maiden speech in the House of Commons in aid of a group of Quakers bringing a petition to end the slave trade. Lady Anne had happened to be in the gallery watching the proceedings and took notice of the handsome country squire who stood so straight and tall and spoke so earnestly in the face of derision. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Darcy was surprised and pleased to receive an invitation to a private ball held by the Marchioness of Rockingham, wife of the former prime minister, where he met and danced with her niece, Lady Anne. A year or so later, Darcy was born at Pemberley.

"I was proud to serve both of them, Lord Darcy and your father. As I am proud to serve you now."

"Thank you." Darcy inclined his head. He said, "Henry, why would a girl - a young lady - spurn a good man who loves her and treats her well?"

A look of compassion came over Ogden's face. "Love is not always rational. I suspect only the lady herself can give you answer. But," he added carefully, "is the young man so certain that he has been spurned?"

"I do not think there can be any doubt. She gave me a time limit and informed me she would not continue past it," Darcy said gloomily, abandoning any pretense that he was speaking in the hypothetical sense.

Ogden's eyebrows shot up. "This is Mrs. Smith?" He had come out to the farmhouse on occasion when Darcy worked from there.

"Yes."

"What reason did she give?"

"She said we were too different and that she had never intended to give me more than six months, but there was no other man involved." He looked at Ogden. "Can I believe her that there is no other man?"

"What is your own inclination?"

"I would like to believe her. There was no indication that she met another man and logically, I do not see how she would have time to do so. I was ever by her side except in that last week and she never displayed any wish or impatience to be elsewhere."

"It does not seem you have any reason to doubt her, then."

Darcy felt a flood of relief that Ogden would agree, even if the alternative was only slightly happier from his perspective.

"Then she must have done it for the money only," he said.

Ogden was silent.

"You do not agree?"

"Mr. Darcy, how can I tell? I only saw Mrs. Smith three times and spoke to her at length once, when I joined you for tea. She seemed happy and devoted to you, was all I thought. As to the money, she seemed a modest, genteel lady and you never mentioned her asking for presents. But I cannot pretend to know much of this matter."

"She never asked me for anything."

He thought about Colonel Fitzwilliam's descriptions of his own experiences. His mistresses were ever hinting for gifts of money and expensive baubles. Elizabeth loved flowers and books and magazines. She liked best to fish and ride with him and explore the countryside. Otherwise, she seemed increasingly uncomfortable when he brought her anything expensive and her shop bills were far less than he anticipated. And she had not wanted to take the severance payment.

"Sometimes it is difficult to understand the motivations of another without experiencing their life first-hand," Ogden said. "For example, I have done things that all of your family found difficult to understand."

"What do you mean?"

"I ran from your great-uncle, you know. Immediately after he freed me, I ran away and went to sea. He was very hurt, as he should have been. From his point of view, he had done everything a good master should and more. So for me to run from him as if he was no better than a cruel slaver was the greatest insult. It almost prevented him from taking me back when I returned."

"I did not know that. Why did you do it?" Darcy was surprised. As long as he had known Ogden, he had been Lord Darcy's right-hand man and private secretary. It was only upon Lord Darcy's decease that he had entered his own father's employment.

"It was due to no deficiency on Lord Darcy's part. I simply needed to know if I was truly free, and I could not know that so long as I lived entirely according to Lord Darcy's plan, no matter how wise or well thought out."

"Were you sorry you left him?"

"Many, many times. I hated the sea and life on board a ship. I lived in constant fear that I would be seized and forced back into slavery. But given the choice, I would do it again. Some things a man is compelled to do, though it makes no sense to anybody but himself."

"I asked her to marry me," Darcy said suddenly. "I asked her from the first. It was entirely her choice to be my mistress, not mine."

Ogden's eyes widened and he lifted his eyebrows. "That is a very unusual choice. Did you never ask her why?"

"I did, but she never gave me satisfactory answer. She said only that mistresses were treated better than wives."

His secretary's eyebrows spiked higher. "What had her husband been like?"

Darcy coloured. "She is not actually a widow. She was a maiden when I met her and I was her first."

Ogden went silent again and Darcy felt ashamed, imagining what his father and mother would have said if they had known he had played the villainous part of seducer. But Ogden only shook his head.

"I cannot understand it. It seems there must be more reason than you have been privy to. Perhaps you should ask her again."

Darcy felt a tiny thread of hope at the idea of speaking to Elizabeth again. Yes, perhaps he could approach her and ask for a further explanation. She had offered him the six months complete and seemed desirous of the last month. Perhaps she had been sincere.

The thought of being with her again brought on such a powerful pang of longing that he had to smother the impulse to abandon his task and ride for Kensington immediately. With greater cheer, he fell to work instead, and after a few hours he and Ogden had obliterated the stacks of unanswered correspondence. Ogden departed to complete the work in his own office and Darcy turned his chair to look out the window, contemplating the wooded hills that fell away in the distance.

What did Elizabeth want? He realized that he had never truly asked that. He had only wanted to know whether she wanted _him_ yet, and if not, why not? But the answers had only served to confuse him further. Perhaps he had approached it from the wrong direction.

He thought back to what she said when he first proposed and she had refused and offered to be his mistress instead. _It would give me greater freedom and independence to lead the life I wish to lead. I do not wish for a husband to tell me what to do and who I may be friends with and when I may see my family._

But that was ridiculous, was it not? He was no domineering brute, who would keep her locked up in a tower in the castle. Surely she could tell that from how he treated her as his mistress. She had her own carriage and driver, her own servants and freedom to go wherever she pleased when he was not there. And even when he was, they did the things that she wished to do as often as not.

Of course, she had had terrible experiences with Mr. Sandys. That would be enough to put any woman off marriage. But surely she could see that he was no Mr. Sandys. Had she not admitted as much, telling him that she did not see him as capable of such abuse? Was that not proof that she could trust him?

And she had seemed to trust him. Indeed, that had been the turning point in their relationship, when he finally felt that she was opening up and letting him in. She had desired him then, as much as he did her sometimes. She had even, finally, told him that she loved him. From there he thought it would only be a matter of time before she was prepared to accept him as her husband.

But then, she had ended it. Why? Come, Darcy, do not be angry at her. Think. What had she said?

 _If it had to be anybody, I am glad it was you. You have made me very happy._

He had focused on the latter part of her statement, rejoicing in her admission that she was happy with him and preferred him above all others. But now he thought about the former. If it _had_ to be anybody. If she _had_ to be someone's mistress …

And suddenly he realized - or perhaps he had always known and was only now willing to admit - she had not been his mistress by choice. She had never wanted to be his mistress. Once upon a time he and Colonel Fitzwilliam had convinced themselves that she must be a licentious woman who could not satisfy her appetites within the confines of honourable marriage, but that had quickly proven to be a farce.

No, the real reason she had done it was because she was desperate. He had suspected it from the first and known it for a certainty when she told him about Mr. Sandys. Why else would a virginal girl who had never known pleasure from a man agree to sell her innocence to someone she was not willing to marry?

And what had he done with the knowledge? Had he terminated their relationship and paid her out so that she had the freedom and independence she craved?

Darcy shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

No, he had not. He had enjoyed her too much and, fearful that if given the choice she would not choose him, he continued to rob her of all choices. That is why he was so terrified of men like Lord Blake, was it not? Having made her the prisoner of her own poverty, his only fear was that she might find a richer jailer.

I am a good man, his heart whispered. It was not lust only. I loved her and treated her well. I never forced myself upon her. I only wanted to marry her and give her the life she deserved.

Even if that was true, it was not really an answer, was it? Any more than it was an answer for Lord Fitzwilliam to deny his tenants a free vote on the grounds that he was a generous landlord who would choose the best representative for them, or for a slaver to refuse his slaves freedom because he treated them kindly and they might exercise their freedom unwisely.

Small wonder that she did not wholly trust him and looked forward to the end of six months, when she would be truly free. He had deserved her rejection.

Darcy sighed and sank lower in his chair. If his ancestors could see him now! High men of honour, all of them, who had stood against tyranny and defended the weak and vulnerable. He had counted himself as one of them, yet he had not been able to refrain from taking advantage of a friendless young lady whom he purported to love.

She is free of you now, said the little voice. She has enough money to do what she likes now.

He sat up in his chair a little. Yes, she was finally free. He had given her freedom in anger, but he _had_ given it to her. Perhaps, like Ogden, that was all she really wanted, to know she was free to choose the man she wanted, or take none at all if that was what she preferred. Perhaps …

 _I am glad it was you._

Perhaps given the choice, she might actually choose him. What if he went to her now and showed her that he respected her choice? What if he set out to prove she could love and trust him, instead of trying to force her to accept him?

He swallowed. He would have to humble himself and admit he had been wrong. He would have to relinquish his pride and submit himself to _her_ power - the power to reject him and declare another man more worthy of her affections. Could he do such a thing, he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, who had been wooed and flattered and sought all of his life? Was she worth it?

Darcy smiled, then rose to his feet. That was a question that did not require thought to answer. He would leave for Kensington immediately.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. There was no fixed polling date for elections at this time. Each county would have its own day or days, as determined by the local returning officer. Contested elections could go on for weeks in order to allow everybody time to get to the polls. After Wortley withdrew, Yorkshire's 1812 county election in which Milton and Lascelles were acclaimed took place in a single day, on October 16, 1812.

2\. Few elections were contested in this period. Of the 658 seats in the House of Commons in 1812, 181 came from county and university constituencies with a large electorate. The remainder were borough seats, which were often in the pocket of the major landowner of the borough, who was typically also a peer in the House of Lords. (The London boroughs were an exception.) In this way, the peers controlled the government and bent it to their interests.

3\. The Earl Fitzwilliam's refusal to countenance Parliamentary reform was one of the biggest reasons for the Whig party's moribund fortunes in this era. Although an upstanding man respected by all for his liberalism and compassion, his socially progressive causes were the causes of the previous century, e.g., Catholic relief and the Irish question. But the public and the most ardent and effective champions of social progress in this time had moved onto demanding reform, likely seeing it as a precondition for any other forms of progressive change.

4\. The 2nd Earl Grey, leader of the Whigs, and Viscount Milton were sympathetic to the idea of reform but stood in too much awe and affection of the Earl Fitzwilliam to truly oppose him on the issue. It was left to radical Whigs like John George Lambton and Henry Grey Bennet to demand reform in strident and not always welcome tones. (Note the names - Fitzwilliam, Lambton, Bennet? Coincidence?) Even so, it was not until Lord Milton successfully gave his father an ultimatum (he would no longer serve as MP if his father continued to oppose his support for reform) that the Whig party really began to move in that direction. The timing may have been coincidental, however, as the public mood was increasingly to demand reform or threaten revolution.

5\. The first of the Quaker petitions to end the slave trade was tabled in Parliament on June 16, 1783 by Sir Cecil Wray, an independent-minded baronet who sat as MP for the borough of Westminster in London. Westminster was an exception to all of the other boroughs in that it granted a much wider franchise that included tradesmen as well as landowners and consequently had a tendency to return radicals and reformers.

6\. In 1783, women were allowed as spectators in Parliament. This was no longer the case in the war period, as the King and Tory government began cracking down on any number of freedoms.

7\. The Marquess of Rockingham began his second term as prime minister in 1782, but it was cut short by his untimely death from flu. As he had no heirs of his body, upon his death, his vast estates passed to the 4th Earl Fitzwilliam, making Lord Fitzwilliam one of the wealthiest men and largest landowners in England. The Marchioness lived on until 1804 on an income of £5,000/year taken as a charge on the Fitzwilliam estate.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	16. Chapter 16 - Flight

**CHAPTER 16 - FLIGHT**

Elizabeth looked around at her dressing room, emptied of her possessions, then at the packed trunk, now filled with them. She thought she had everything. She had left the jewels he had given her and his books from Pemberley, but kept the books she had purchased herself and the ones he had bought her especially as a gift. The only things remaining were a few personal toiletries and other dressing items that she would need tomorrow morning, before James took her away to her new home.

She sat down on the trunk and sighed. She supposed she ought to be grateful it had ended as it had.

The first few days after Darcy had terminated their agreement, she had done nothing but wait, hoping he would change his mind and call on her. There was a look on his face at the attorney's office that suggested that he might relent. And she had not wanted it to end so abruptly. She had counted on time to learn to let him go.

But he had not come after all. And after she learnt from her attorney that he had departed for Pemberley, she gave up hope of him. It was clear that whatever love he professed to feel for her was not particularly strong, she thought bitterly. No doubt he would move on quickly.

She had written to Mrs. Gardiner then, asking if there was any possibility of reconciliation. Could her uncle be persuaded to receive her again and pave the way for her re-entry into a respectable life?

Her heart had leapt to see Mrs. Gardiner's prompt reply, but sank again when she read the letter. Mr. Gardiner's fury had eventually died down, her aunt wrote, but having resigned himself to her disgrace, he was now determined that his own daughters should have no share in it. She was sorry, but she did not think it was possible.

Elizabeth had wept, then dried her tears to compose as dignified a response as possible, considering that her intention was to beg for a hearing. It had not been in vain; Mrs. Gardiner agreed to meet her in secret, without Mr. Gardiner's knowledge. And after the meeting at the tea gardens in Chelsea, Mrs. Gardiner had promised to plead her case to her uncle.

It had been a difficult two weeks, with letters flowing between Mrs. Gardiner and herself, punctuated by the occasional short missive from Jane, who she knew was doing what she could on her behalf. At last, Mr. Gardiner had consented to meet Elizabeth and, after meeting her, agreed that he would assist her. However, he could not receive her in his home nor allow her contact with his children. Perhaps one day, when her respectability was longer established, she might play with her cousins as she had done earlier. But for now, she must keep her polluting presence away.

Elizabeth had accepted this. She rented lodgings in Cheapside, a small flat on the second storey of a plain but respectable looking building, close but not too close to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's home. It was where she was bound tomorrow.

She would live in London from now on, as Darcy did for some of the year, albeit in a completely different part of Town. Would she run into him sometimes? At his favourite bookshop, perhaps? Would he be married by then? A father, perhaps?

That night, for the last time, she slept in the bed they had shared. In her dreams, she was with him again, lying naked in his arms after they loved each other. When she woke, the empty bed mocked her. She was glad to shut the door on it forever.

She dressed, breakfasted and gave Mrs. Wortley and Dorothy their good-bye presents. They cried and kissed her and she wished them well. In the yard, James loaded her trunk into the carriage, then held the door open for her to enter. As she lifted her foot to step into the carriage, she paused. Was that the sound of a horseback rider? Yes, it was, riding hard over the stones. Her heart leapt in hope. Could it be -? Had Darcy changed his mind -?

The rider burst into view, then came to a stop not far away from her.

"Miss Bennet?" he inquired.

She nodded and took his note. It was only folded and not sealed, and she recognized Susan's handwriting. She unfolded it and felt a mixture of horror and triumph as she read. _This_ was why she had done everything she did. _This_ justified all. In a moment, she was in the carriage and James was driving it out of the clearing, headed for Blemmell House.

* * *

Darcy's coach made good time. He had started off with a skeleton staff, leaving instructions for Ogden and some of his servants to follow him later. With six horses and only a single passenger travelling light, the carriage flew down the turnpike. Even so, it could not go fast enough for him.

What would he say when he saw her? Should he call immediately or send his card first? Would she admit him or be angry?

Perhaps she would not want to see him. Or perhaps - here he felt a chill - she was no longer at the farmhouse. No, it had only been two weeks. She would not move so quickly, would she? And if she did, would she not leave a forwarding address? For what? He had never known her to receive callers or correspondence there.

Darcy banged on the roof of the carriage to make his coachman drive faster.

* * *

The barouche-landau pulled into Jane's street as it had dozens of times before. This time, however, it stopped at the flower stall first, where Elizabeth exchanged lengthy words with Susan, then looped around again to come to a stop at the front door of Blemmell House. Elizabeth glanced out at the doorman, whom she did not recognize. This was no surprise, as Sir Henry's temper made it difficult for him to keep servants. She was glad to see it was still the case, as she was counting on all the servants being new.

Elizabeth made no move to step out, but instead waited until the doorman opened the carriage door. Then she stepped out majestically, her head held high.

"Kindly inform Lady Blemmell that her sister, Miss Bennet, is here to call upon her," she said, not deigning to look at the doorman.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but Lady Blemmell is not receiving visitors today." He jerked his chin toward the door, which was missing its knocker.

"I think she must make an exception for me. I have come all the way from Scotland and I am not used to being kept waiting."

The doorman quailed slightly at Elizabeth's imperious air. She saw him look at the fashionable barouche-landau behind her and then take in the quality of her fine clothes. At his hesitation, she swept past him. She reached the door, found it unlocked and entered the house.

"Miss! I must announce you!" the doorman cried.

"Then do so," she said crisply. She stepped back to allow him to pass before her, and he did, running up the main stairs. She followed closely behind.

They went up two flights of stairs and then down a corridor to a room at the end. He stated her name to the footman posted outside the door - another man Elizabeth did not recognize - who looked surprised. Elizabeth took advantage of the man's momentary paralysis to step past him and enter the room.

It was the nursery. At the centre of the room she saw a woman from behind, bending sadly over a cradle, while a timid young nursemaid sat by, knitting mournfully. The woman at the cradle turned her head and, despite her preparation by Susan, Elizabeth gasped.

It was Jane. But how different! One eye was swollen shut, bruises marred the whole half side of her face and her lip was a mess of dried blood. In all the times he had beaten her before, Sir Henry had never touched Jane's beautiful face. She shuddered to think what lay beneath her gown.

"Jane!" she cried, kneeling beside her sister on the ground and putting her arms gently around her.

Jane only breathed a small sigh, as if she was very tired, then put her head down on Elizabeth's shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, then Jane raised her head.

"Elizabeth," she muttered, speaking with difficulty through her stiff and swollen lips. "He tried to hurt the baby. Samuel."

Elizabeth nodded, but did not take her arms away. She whispered, "You must come with me, Jane. Samuel too."

"With you? Now?" Jane rasped, looking at her with eyes that would be frightened if they were not so sad.

"Yes, right now. Get your things and the baby's things too."

She let Jane go and reached into the cradle for her sleeping nephew. Luckily, he did not wake. Jane gathered up his blanket and other items as quickly as her injuries would allow. The nursemaid stared at them, terrified. When she led the way to the door, the footman stepped in front of her.

"Now hold on, miss, you cannot just take them away -" the footman protested.

"I am not taking them away. My sister is clearly not well and would benefit from a change of scene. She also needs to see an apothecary. I will take her to my aunt's house for the afternoon and return with her before evening. You know her, Mrs. Gardiner. She has been here before."

"We have instructions not to leave her alone."

"She is not alone. I will be with her. The nursemaid may come too if it makes you feel better. Your name, miss?"

"Gladys, ma'am."

"Gladys, thank you. Gladys will accompany us. You may come too if you wish, though you will have to run alongside my coach to Cheapside." She spoke with indifference, praying that he would be either too lazy or too proud to run alongside a coach through the muddy streets of London.

He wavered and Elizabeth took advantage of his indecision to usher Jane and the nursemaid from the room. She led them down the stairs, holding the baby while the footman and doorman trailed behind, still muttering half-hearted protests. They were almost at the door, and then -

"Miss Bennet? Is that you?" said a voice. Elizabeth's heart sank to see Mr. Samson, the ancient butler, who was unswervingly loyal to the Blemmell family.

"Mr. Samson," she greeted him, trying to sound calm although her heart was pounding. "I have returned from Scotland and came to see my sister."

"Where are you going, madam?"

She swallowed and glanced around her. The footman and doorman was now ranged beside Mr. Samson, blocking the way to the door, and were looking to him for guidance.

"I am … I am taking Lady Blemmell for a visit to Mrs. Gardiner. I am sure it will do her good. We will not be gone long, and you see Gladys will accompany us."

"You know Sir Henry would not like to see his wife leave without his permission, Miss Bennet."

"Even Sir Henry must have enough compassion to make an exception in this case," she pleaded. But Elizabeth knew that Sir Henry would not have such compassion and she also knew that Mr. Samson must know that as well, considering his long service to the family.

Mr. Samson looked past her to Jane just behind her. From the shocked look on his face, Elizabeth realized that he was seeing her injuries for the first time. Hoping to spark his pity for once, she stepped aside to let the sunlight in the hall fall fully on Jane. She saw him wavering as he took in the ravaged face, the bruises on her neck and arms that Elizabeth had not noticed in the dim light of the nursery. But then his gaze fell on the child sleeping in Elizabeth's arms.

"She will not need Master Samuel for her visit," Mr. Samson said.

Elizabeth felt her heart drop. If he let her go but insisted the child remain, she knew Jane would never leave. Briefly, she weighed their chance of making a run for it. Then she heard Jane's raspy voice beside her.

"Please, Mr. Samson. He needs me … he needs his mother."

Mr. Samson looked at Jane as she spoke and Elizabeth saw his eyes range speculatively over the baby items she held in her arms, saw with sinking heart the realization dawn in in his eyes of what they intended. For a moment, butler and mistress stared at each other. Then Mr. Samson bowed his head and said softly, "Yes, I suppose he does need his mother."

He stepped aside to let them pass and the footman and doorman cleared the way as well. Elizabeth, her heart pounding, forced herself to walk slowly to the door and then out to the carriage. Jane and Gladys followed her.

She ordered the women in, handed the baby to Jane, then stepped in herself and closed the door. As per her instructions to James, the carriage proceeded at a leisurely pace until it was around the corner. Then it began to race.

* * *

"What do you mean, she is gone? Where did she go?"

Darcy stood in the drawing room of the farmhouse with Mrs. Wortley, looking around him in dismay.

"She was moving to lodgings in Cheapside, Mr. Darcy. But then a message came for her and she told James there was a change of plans. She was quite distressed."

"What did the message say? Who was it from?"

"I do not know who it was from. But I gather it was to do with her sister, Lady Blemmell."

"Lady Blemmell?" Darcy stared. "I thought they were estranged."

Mrs. Wortley shook her head. "I did not know that. James said she was always having him drive by her townhouse in Princes Street, though she never went in. But he thought they wrote to each other in secret, through one of the flower pedlars on the street. Perhaps she was going there?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Wortley," said Darcy, rushing back to his coach.

* * *

"But where are you going, Mrs. Smith? I can take you there. There is no need to hire a chaise," James said.

Elizabeth stood with her coachman in the busy yard of the Saracen's Head in Holborn. Gladys stood beside her, but Jane and the baby were nowhere to be seen. All around them was the din and chaos of travel: coaches needing new horses, passengers seeking sustenance, private travellers hiring carriages, families greeting or bidding good-bye to loved ones and the occasional blare of the post horn.

"You cannot take me where I am going, James. You must go directly back to Mr. Darcy and explain to him what happened and ask for his help. And take Gladys with you. You must not talk to anybody until you see him. Is that clear?"

"But … Mrs. Smith. The carriage is yours. How do I return it to you?"

"I am giving the carriage back to Mr. Darcy. He will know what to do with it. And here, this is for your troubles." She gave both Gladys and James money, enough to cover their wages for half a year.

"Thank you, ma'am. But where are you going? Mr. Darcy will wish to know."

"I cannot tell you. I am sorry."

* * *

"What happened here?" Darcy demanded of the youth milling in the crowd around Blemmell House.

"It's a blow-up," said the boy with relish. "Lady Blemmell's done left her husband at last, and stole the babe too. Sir Henry is a-raging and half the servants have taken French leave. Poor Lord John is in a lather at Sir Henry."

"But what happened? Why did she leave?" asked Darcy, feeling a sense of foreboding.

"Why didn't she leave before is the better question, sir," interposed a middle-aged woman with a basket of loaves. "Poor mite, what she has put up with! But her sister persuaded her to go at last. Just swept in, in a gorgeous carriage as you see them noble ladies riding in the park with, and whisked them away!"

"I hear he smashed her face this time," said a lady pushing a cart. "He is lucky she only ran away. I would have cut his heart out in the middle of the night, more like."

"She'll regret it," said another man, who carried a dozen dead rabbits on a pole. "Sir Henry will bring her back, and her sister too. She'll stand trial. The sister, I mean. Maybe she'll swing. Can't steal a man's chattels."

"He'll never catch her. They had a half-day head start," said the cart lady.

"He'll catch her," said the rabbit man. "He has the thief-takers out. Big Jemmy and Lord Bob and who knows how many others. I heard he's put a bounty on her head of five hundred pounds and says there's more coming if that's not enough. They'll all go after her for that, chase her to the ends of the earth."

"They shouldna be touchin' a lady like Miss Bennet," said a woman in the garb of a kitchen servant.

"Big Jemmy always gets his man. Even if she is a lady. And real ladies wouldn't be stealing chattels anyway."

"If she comes quietly like a lady, maybe he won't rough her up."

"Big Jemmy always roughs 'em up. Better for her if it's Lord Bob."

"My god," said Darcy.

* * *

"Another carriage change, Jane. Keep Samuel quiet if you can. It is better if the postillion does not see you and does not know there is a babe."

"I will try, Lizzy."

* * *

Darcy leapt out of his carriage and ran to the door of Colonel Fitzwilliam's townhouse in Marylebone. "Fitzwilliam!" he bawled, pounding the door.

Receiving no immediate response, he stepped back to look up at the windows again. There were shadows moving up there. He pounded the door again, with his fist and cane. "FITZWILLIAM!"

He kept pounding and also began kicking the door until he heard movement from inside. "God damn it!" came a voice, and he was relieved to recognize it as his cousin's.

"Oh, it's you," said Colonel Fitzwilliam when he opened the door. He was only partly dressed, in trousers and shirt-sleeves, which appeared to be hastily thrown on. "What are you doing here? What is the matter? Hey now!" he said, when Darcy brushed past him and mounted the stairs to his rooms.

"She is gone. I need your help."

In the drawing room, Darcy stopped dead. There was a young woman there, dressed only in a light gown and shawl with her hair down and blushing furiously.

"Lady Dunford," Darcy bowed. It was Colonel Fitzwilliam's cousin, the wife of the Marquess of Dunford. He understood now why his cousin looked like he had dressed in a hurry and no servant had answered his knock on the door.

"It is not what it looks like, cousin. Lady Dunford only came by now to consult me about a business problem."

"Never mind that. Elizabeth is gone, run off with her sister."

"Run off?"

"Her sister is Lady Blemmell, niece of Lord John Blemmell. Apparently Elizabeth's sister has been the victim of abuse at the hands of her husband. In any case, she has run off with the Blemmell heir and Elizabeth is with her. He is treating Elizabeth as the instigator."

"Fuck."

"He put a price on her head, five hundred pounds, and all of the bounty hunters are after her. Big Jemmy, they say."

"FUCK!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to Lady Dunford, who had risen and stood nearby, her face pale. "I am sorry, my darling …"

"Do not be sorry, Freddie. Go help her!"

The gentlemen rushed out.

* * *

"I cannot just _give_ you riders, Fitz," said William Arbuthnot, second son of the Baron of Southley and undersecretary in the Home Office.

"What do you suggest, Arbie?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam. "She is only a young lady, not much more than a girl, who is trying to help her sister. She knows nothing of these thief-takers or that world. She has no idea what she is facing. How would you feel if it was _your_ sister, alone and scared?"

Arbuthnot weakened. "Well, I do have some contacts in the Guards … and Jimmy owes me a favour."

"Anything," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "And I will be in your debt."

"Will you introduce me to that girl? From last night?"

"Of course," Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. "But I cannot make her like you if I do."

"Just the introduction is all I ask. And maybe a good word for me."

"Absolutely, old man."

* * *

"Last one, Jane. It will be a bumpy ride, as it is an old cart."

"I am fine, Lizzy. Samuel is well too. He is sleeping again."

"I will be driving this time."

"You know how to drive?" Jane marvelled.

"I made my coachman James teach me," Elizabeth laughed. "We had nothing else to do and I thought it might come in handy."

"You could always do anything you had a mind to, Lizzy."

* * *

Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy stood in his study in his townhouse in Berkeley Square. It was a spacious room, but even so it felt filled up with the dozen additional men ranged around it. They were a mix - guardsmen, ministry spies and runners and thief-takers who actually caught rather than conspired with thieves, and who refused to stoop to the methods of a Big Jemmy or a Lord Bob.

"You have your marching orders," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Find the thief-takers Sir Henry has employed and follow them. If they pick up any clue, confuse them. Plant rumours, make up sightings, pay false informants. Anything to get them off the trail."

He dismissed all but two of them, the two with the most gentlemanly but unobtrusive air. When the door closed, leaving the four men alone, he said, "Your job is to find Miss Bennet. Her coachman and Lady Blemmell's nursemaid returned to Mr. Darcy. They reported that she departed from the Saracen's Head in a hired post-chaise. Start there. If you need more money, apply here, to Mr. Darcy. If you find anything promising, report to us immediately."

They departed, leaving Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam alone. Darcy sat down and dropped his head into his hands. Colonel Fitzwilliam put his hand on his shoulder.

"It will be well. There are over one hundred coaching inns within a morning's journey of London and they have no idea where to start. They will not find her before we do. You sent the coachman and nursemaid off?"

"Yes, they are on their way to Pemberley, with the two other servants who looked after Elizabeth. Nobody will be questioning them." He sat up miserably, leant his arms on the armrests and stretched his legs out. "I should have been with her. I could have helped her, kept her safe."

"You did not know."

"I _should_ have known. But she did not feel she could fully trust me."

"We will find her," Colonel Fitzwilliam said confidently. "And then you can prove it to her."

* * *

 _Bristol. Two weeks later._

Darcy stood on the shore, gazing out at the channel leading out to the sea. Here was where the trail ended.

It had not been an easy search. Elizabeth had covered her tracks well, and Darcy had to wonder how much thought she must have put into it to be able to elude an army of thief-takers and King's spies.

Their obfuscation campaign had worked. Rumours had spread, tangled and mated with each other, sprouting new heads and tails and feet. The newspapers were full of sightings in every county in England, Ireland, Scotland. Most of Sir Henry's thief-takers were in the North, and a knot of them had gotten stranded on the Orkney Islands when a storm hit. His own men, who knew where to start their search, had had to sort out truth from fiction.

It helped that none of them had a picture of Elizabeth. They had a picture of Jane, from Sir Henry, but it appeared that Elizabeth had kept her well hidden on the journey through many coaching inns.

 _He_ had a picture of Elizabeth. Four days after the search began, he and Colonel Fitzwilliam had happened to run into Lord Blake and heard about the painting, which was paid for but still sitting unclaimed at Northcote's. That was when his searchers began making real progress.

But in the end, it had led here. Not a dead end, but one that was far too open. She could have sailed for Canada, America, India, Africa, any number of the colonies. There were witnesses saying she had inquired into passage for all of those places.

"You cannot search the whole world for her," Colonel Fitzwilliam had told him when they learnt.

"Why not? If I begin at one end and work my way to the other …"

"You would only be hurting her. The attention is beginning to die down and Sir Henry's searchers are beginning to give up. If people connect you to her and think you have picked up a lead, the search will start up again."

"I will be discreet."

"You have responsibilities here, Darcy. To Georgiana and Pemberley. I will make some quiet inquiries at the embassies to let us know if they hear anything. But otherwise, she is safest hidden. Let her be."

He knew Colonel Fitzwilliam was right. He had bargained for six months and she had given him six months. The wildest, most painful and wonderful six months of his life. He took one last look at the endless horizon.

"Good-bye, my love," he whispered.

He turned his back to the sea and got into the waiting carriage, taking him back to his life.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. Saracen's Head was a large coaching inn in Middlesex outside London, keeping about two thousand horses for hire.

2\. "French leave" - The _Lexicon Balatronicum_ aka Francis Grose's 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue defines this as "to go off without taking leave of the company; a saying frequently applied to those who have run away from their creditors." In this case, the youth is using it in the general sense of going AWOL.

3\. Servants were in high demand in this time and employers who did not treat them well or command their respect were liable to high turnover.

4\. There was no state police in this time and individuals were left to investigate and prosecute their own crimes. If the government or a private individual wanted stolen property recovered or someone caught, they would offer a reward or bounty.

5\. In the absence of a state police force, the gap was filled by thief takers. While some were honest and effective, others were former criminals who adopted brutal methods and used their underworld connections to great effect. The latter might not only catch criminals, but also create criminals, luring people, including children, into crime and then turning them in to hang while the thief-takers collected the reward. Another trick was to steal goods, then retrieve them after a reward was posted for their recovery.

6\. Following high-profile cases exposing the practice of thief-takers, the public's attitude toward them was highly ambivalent. However, the government suffered them as a necessity. And in truth, they were effective in keeping down the crime rate, in the sense that an organized kingpin of crime will eliminate rival criminals on his turf.

© 2017-18 by "LucyQ" at Meryton-dot-com and LucyQT at Fanfiction-dot-net - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	17. Chapter 17 - A New Home

**CHAPTER 17 - A NEW HOME**

Elizabeth stood on the edge of the bluffs and looked out to where a small but increasingly bright glow of sunlight peeped out from under a heavy mass of clouds. It looked like the storm would pass. That was good. That meant the boats would be returning soon.

She pulled her shawl more tightly around herself against the brisk wind from the Bristol Channel and retraced her steps back down the path to the cottage in the shelter of the hillside. Entering, she heard Samuel's yell of triumph followed by Jane's soft, delighted laughter from the vicinity of the drawing-room. She found them on the floor, Jane building block towers as fast as she could before Samuel knocked them down with a flail of his hand, then beamed proudly at his accomplishment.

Elizabeth lifted the baby into her arms and covered his face with kisses, causing him to bubble with laughter and grab at her hair. "Sillybub," she said, cuddling him in her arms. "Silly Sillybub!"

"What is the weather like, Lizzy?" asked Jane as she got up from the floor. She picked up the driftwood blocks and placed them neatly in their box. They had been a present from one of the fishing families in the village along the north coast of Somersetshire, approximately a half day's journey by cart from Bristol.

"Increasingly fair, Jane. The boats will be back soon with our supplies." In the winter, when there was less fishing, the fishermen ran deliveries of coal and limestone across the Bristol Channel to Wales.

"And Mr. Warford will visit?" Jane asked. Mr. Warford was an itinerant Methodist preacher whose base was in Bristol, but whose circuit encompassed the tiny coastal towns up and down the coast. He usually travelled on foot or on horseback, but occasionally came by boat if there was one to transport him.

Elizabeth blushed. "I should not think so, Jane. It is too soon after his last visit."

"He comes much more frequently now. The villagers were telling me they used to see him only once a fortnight, if that." Jane scrutinized her sister, trying not to smile.

"Perhaps it is a quiet time of year for him, so he has been able to come away more frequently. It is not as if the villagers do not love it when he comes." Elizabeth spoke lightly.

"Only the villagers?" Jane teased.

"Of course his sisters enjoy seeing him more frequently as well." Mr. Warford's sisters, Mrs. Duncombe and Miss Hester Warford, lived on a farm owned by Mrs. Duncombe's husband not four miles away.

"Of course. And he comes only to see his sisters, I am sure." But she hid a smile.

Elizabeth stopped dancing the baby around and frowned at her sister. "I do not think you should speculate about Mr. Warford," Elizabeth lectured severely. "He is likely only trying to do his duty as he sees it."

This time Jane did not attempt to hide her smile. She remembered that her sister had been quite happy to speculate about Mr. Warford and any number of the village girls, most of whom could be said to be fairly in love with Mr. Warford.

"It is very hard, when you are provoking me to it every moment with your blushes," she said. Then she added, more seriously, "But I am not only speculating, Lizzy."

"No?"

"No. He came to me last visit."

"Oh."

"I will not tell you everything he said to me. But I do think it is clear where his thoughts tend. He is a good man, Lizzy. Do you think you could ever love him?"

Elizabeth lifted up Samuel to kiss his belly, hiding her face in the baby. Her voice came muffled. "I do not know, Jane. It is too soon."

Jane nodded and wisely said no more. She took the baby from Elizabeth's arms to nurse and Elizabeth went out to resume her walk.

Mr. Warford! Elizabeth's thoughts were all confusion where he was concerned.

They had so much to be grateful to him for. It was because of him that they had found the cottage; it was because of him that they had been accepted by the villagers and the neighbourhood without question.

She had met his older brother first, an estate agent who worked in London. He had been the fourth one she had gone to see last July, when Darcy had left her alone for his pleasures in the north. She had liked the elder Mr. Warford immediately; unlike the other estate agents, he listened to what she wanted and did not spend his time trying to sell her an expensive townhouse lease or find out if she were the kind of young lady who would meet a man at a coffeehouse.

"A cottage or farmhouse in the country with little society surrounding?" His low, pleasant voice had a slight rolling drawl that spoke of origins in the West Country. "Certainly, I can help you."

They had looked over some of the properties he had in his inventory, but none had been sufficiently isolated. She returned a number of times that month, but he was still unable to find what she wanted. Patiently, she had described it again.

"All alone in the country, with not even a parish church nearby?" His brow wrinkled. "That cannot be suitable for a young lady such as yourself. We must not put you in danger."

She would not be alone, but would have her sister there, she told him. In fact, it was because of her sister that she sought such solitude. Like her, her sister had been widowed by war. Unlike her, her sister's loss had been heartbreakingly recent; she had lost him in the campaign for Salamanca. Moreover, she had been travelling with the army and was with him when he died. Her friends wrote that the agonizing experience had taken its toll: her nerves were shattered and she needed perfect peace and quiet. She was making her way back to England only slowly as a result.

"Ah." The estate agent's brow cleared. "I understand now. I think I have an idea. Can you come back in a week?"

When she came back, he explained that his brother had found something that might be suitable. It was an old gamekeeper's cottage on the coast, about half a day's journey from Bristol, comfortable but unused after the estate had been sold to a wealthy merchant with no taste for field sports. The parish it belonged to was small and unreachable for most of the winter, when the roads were poor. However, there was a fishing village not half a mile off, from where she could obtain supplies.

"My brother vouches for the situation, and I would trust him with my life."

She agreed to take it, and his brother, Mr. Warford, had arranged for a one-year lease. He had also written her through his brother to tell her about the village, which was tiny - scarcely more than a dozen fishing huts clustered on the shingle by the water. But they were occupied by good, god-fearing folk, poor but clean in their habits and kind in their disposition.

Elizabeth had replied to thank him for his trouble. She had also sent a two-pound banknote, asking that he divide it among the village children as a present from her by way of introduction. A week later, she received a lengthy response in which he described the giant baked pudding he had brought them, stuffed with sixpences, and the delighted reaction of the children. They were eager to meet their new benefactress, he wrote, adding in humorous apology that she was now known as "the Puddin' Lady." She decided then and there that she quite liked Tom Warford.

They had not met immediately upon her arrival. Rather, it was about three weeks hence. Jane's bruises had faded by then, and Elizabeth had been able to hire a woman from the village to do the washing and scrubbing. She had also employed a servant girl, Hannah, for the cottage, and her older brother for the outdoor chores.

Jane and Elizabeth had been in the drawing-room when the knock came. Hannah had been in the kitchen. Elizabeth put down the book she had been reading and went to the door; there was no use standing on ceremony in such a place, and Hannah could not be expected to do everything. Opening the door, she found herself staring at a young man about Darcy's age, with a frank and open countenance. He looked as surprised as she felt.

"Er … I am looking for the Widow Smith," he said politely. He had a low voice with a pleasing timbre.

"I am she."

"You are Mrs. Smith? My brother did not mention you were so young and … " His voice trailed off and then he cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "I am come to invite you and your sister and Hannah to a prayer meeting at seven o'clock this evening. It is at Mrs. Semple's house." Mrs. Semple had the largest of the tiny cottages by the water.

"Thank you, we would be delighted to attend."

He flashed a smile at her. "I will see you soon, then."

He turned and headed back down to the village on the path. At the bend, he turned to look at her and she blushed lightly and stepped back into the house. She should not have been staring, but she had never seen a man of the cloth dressed so, in buckskin breeches and boots.

Jane greeted her information about the prayer-meeting with quiet pleasure. Not so Hannah.

"Mr. Warford!" she cried. "At las'! We be wonderin' when he might come! An' a prayer-meetin' too! Oh! How wonderful! Where is me good dress!"

She rushed to her room. Elizabeth said roguishly, "I imagine a prayer-meeting might not be quite so wonderful if Mr. Warford was not quite so good-looking."

Jane lifted her eyebrows at Elizabeth, who laughed. "You should have seen him, Jane. I am not sure it is a good idea for a minister to look so; it is sure to make mischief among his flock."

An hour or so later, Elizabeth had call to regret her earlier, uncharitable thoughts. For the prayer-meeting was wonderful, and so was Mr. Warford's preaching.

He was not quite so tall and imposing as Darcy, but he was nevertheless an impressive figure in his own right. And his voice! It was deep, resonant, thrilling in its timbre. She had never considered herself to be particularly religious, but she felt the power of that voice. As did, it seemed, the men and women of the congregation, who beamed with joy or wept with sorrow as his voice commanded them.

Afterward, when he came up to her, he seemed again the polite, slightly embarrassed young man she had first met. But she knew better now.

"I had wondered how the villagers here came to be so virtuous," she told him when he greeted her. "One reads so often of the drink and dissipation, with all their attendant ills, that beset our small, rural places. You have had great effect on them."

"Not I," Mr. Warford said. "The trail was blazed a long time ago in these parts; I merely mow the grass and tend the flowers."

She smiled at his modesty and he smiled back. "I am glad you and Mrs. Benson came," he said simply. "There are many who view us with suspicion, and others who dislike us. But I hope you see there is nothing to fear."

She could not pretend she did not know of what he spoke. In Meryton, the vicar had frequently castigated those of his parishioners who preferred the Methodist meeting-house to his own services, exhorting loyal parishioners to shun their neighbours who would commit such treason. And yet the numbers at the Methodist service grew and grew.

"No, indeed, one cannot fear when so many are made happy," she said, looking around at the excited, glowing faces around her.

He stepped closer. "I understand you have spread your own happiness in the village, Mrs. Smith."

Elizabeth dimpled. "I cannot take credit for the pudding. That was beyond even my genius! How odd and wonderful a sight you must have looked carrying it all the way from Bristol!"

He grinned. "Only the sixpences came from Bristol. The pudding came from my sister's farm, which is only a few miles away. But I was not speaking of the pudding."

"No?"

"I meant the villagers' letters. You have been helping them, they tell me."

"Oh! Yes, I suppose so. But that is a mere nothing; I enjoy it."

A number of the villagers had sons in the Navy, and received letters home, written with the assistance of their son's commanding officers. Since none of them knew themselves how to read or write beyond their own names, they usually waited for Mr. Warford's visits to hear the latest news. But Elizabeth's arrival meant they no longer had to wait. She had spent many hours deciphering handwriting and taking dictation at the cottage in the evenings while Jane tended to Samuel, and the sisters kept the lantern lit in the window in case any of the fishermen or their wives had received a new letter and wished to drop in.

"It is not nothing to them, Mrs. Smith," Mr. Warford said, and Elizabeth felt herself warmed by the admiration in his beautiful voice.

Jane came over and he greeted her with a smile, then gave a finger to Samuel, who squeezed it with glee. He asked them whether they found the cottage comfortable and they both thanked him warmly for his efforts on their behalf. After chatting for a few more minutes, he excused himself to speak to his other congregants and Jane and Elizabeth also mingled among their friends, but Elizabeth noticed that he looked over at her frequently.

At the end of the meeting, he approached them again.

"I wonder if I might ask a favour," he said. "I have long wished to establish a meeting-house by the water, but there is no structure in these parts capable of accommodating even the people in the village. You see Mrs. Semple's house was full to bursting." This was true; about half the men had had to stand on the sand outside and listen through the window. "Would you be willing to host such a thing? Once a week, perhaps?"

It was the least they could do. Both Jane and Elizabeth agreed with alacrity. They fixed a date and extended an invitation to him to dine with them before he spoke, which he gratefully accepted. From then on, Mr. Warford became a regular fixture at the old gamekeeper's cottage.

By now, Elizabeth had made it down to the shore. The sea was cold and quiet and she shivered, but kept walking, making for her favourite place to think. It was a large, flat rock, perfectly angled for contemplating the sea, the sky or private matters within. She had discovered it two months ago and visited on occasion, when she had particularly wished for time alone to think. Of late she had taken to coming almost daily.

She liked Mr. Warford; she knew that quite well. She had also long suspected that he harboured strong feelings for her.

It had been pleasant initially. She had felt raw and exposed after her bitter experiences with Darcy and Mr. Warford's flattering attentions had been a salve to the wounds. More recently, as she came to know and admire him, she began to think she might be willing to accept more. Everybody wished it and were beginning to expect it - Mr. Warford, his family, Jane, the village.

She thought about his family. She knew only the sisters who lived nearby personally, but she knew they were close-knit and supportive of each other. There were twelve children in all and Mr. Warford was the ninth of them and the second-youngest son. They worked all over southern England - London, Bristol, Portsmouth - and the eldest lived in Devon, running a prosperous boat-making business. Their parents had died when Mr. Warford was a youth, serving as an apprentice at a London coachmaker's.

Those were the things he told her. From observation, she learnt other things: that men liked him as much as women; and that he was gentle with the elderly and infirm, patient with the ignorant and abusive, and adored by children, who would march before him when they saw him coming and trail behind him when he left.

She also learnt of him through his sisters, who came regularly to the meetings at the gamekeeper's cottage and who were clearly immensely proud of him.

"He has only been preaching for three years, but already there is talk of moving him to the Liverpool Circuit," said Hester Warford. "People say he is the most promising new preacher since Jabez Bunting and Robert Newton. I have heard some predict that he is sure to be a member of the Council one day."

"Of course, he does not have as much money as some men," Mrs. Duncombe. "He might have been rich if he had stayed with the coach-maker. But he said he wished to serve God, not Mammon. Still, I believe he has a sum laid by to marry."

"And perhaps the woman he chooses might have a fortune of her own," Hester said brightly.

Elizabeth had blushed at this rather transparent campaigning. But she did like the sisters. They had taken to visiting when Mr. Warford did, and they never came empty-handed, but made sure the cottage was well-supplied with eggs and butter and milk. And they and Jane got on famously. Hester adored Samuel and Mrs. Duncombe, who had four children of her own, was full of helpful advice for Jane. Jane had even taken Samuel for a weeklong visit once to their farm and returned glowing and happy. Elizabeth could easily see her a part of the Warford family. Indeed, she could see both of them. They would be safe, respectable and happy for ever.

It all seemed to be working out perfectly. As God ordained, she mused wryly, thinking of Mr. Warford's recent sermon. There was only one major issue. Perhaps two, but she had resolved not to think of _him_ anymore. Had he not deemed her unworthy of another month of his time?

Overhead, the seagulls made their plaintive cry, waking Elizabeth from her reverie. It was almost dinner time, and she had to return to help Hannah. She got up from the cold rock and began the walk back. As she stepped onto the rise, she looked back to the village and saw a lone figure coming. It was Mr. Warford.

"Good evening, Mrs. Smith," he said. "I was just going up to call on you and your sister. May I join you on your walk?"

"I am just returning, but perhaps you could walk back with me. I am glad to see you, sir."

They walked for a ways in silence. Then Mr. Warford said, "You walk alone often."

"Yes, I find it a good way to organize my thoughts."

"I as well. Whenever I need to compose a sermon, I must take a walk, even if I have nowhere to go at that particular moment."

"Then you walk in circles and your landlady thinks you mad," Elizabeth smiled and he laughed and did not deny it.

"What do you think of when you walk?" he inquired.

You, she thought. But it was not entirely true. "All kinds of things," she said lightly. "My life now, my life then, the latest news from the village, what Samuel did today."

"And how do you compare them - your life now and your life then?"

"They are very different."

"My brother mentioned that you lost Captain Smith some years ago. I suppose you still miss him."

"Not really," she said. "I realize I did not know him that well when we married, and then we only had a few weeks together before he was sent abroad and was lost to me."

"You are quite young still. Would you ever consider marrying again?"

"I - I do not know. Perhaps to the right man."

He stopped in the path and she did as well. He took her hand. "What about to me? Mrs. Smith? Elizabeth? Could I be the right man?"

Her cheeks flushed and she could not meet his eye, but looked down at their hands instead.

"I love you, you know," he continued. "I loved you from the first moment I saw you, when you opened the door to me at the cottage. I have loved you more every day since."

She forced herself to lift her eyes to his. "I am very grateful for your regard. But - "

He interrupted her. "It is too soon, I know. But I wanted you to know, so you have no doubt as to my intentions."

She shook her head. "I am sure your intentions could never be anything but honourable, but … "

"But?" He looked fearful. "But you can never love me?"

"I - no, That is not what I intend to say. But … you know so little about me. I fear I am not the woman you think I am."

He looked relieved. "I think I know exactly who you are, Elizabeth. You are the girl who delights in giving a baked pudding full of sixpences to children to make them laugh. The beautiful young woman who did not hesitate to open her house to strangers. The loving, affectionate sister and aunt. The neighbour who thinks nothing of spending her evening reading and writing letters for illiterate fishermen. My sisters adore you, and I adore you."

She blinked away tears at his praise. "I thank you for the kind terms you ascribe to my present. But it is my past that I am referring to. I have not been … I have not always been … In London I was … "

He dropped her hand and resumed walking and she walked with him. He said, quietly, "Elizabeth, I have never told you about my life in London. Would you like to hear?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "Yes, very much."

"I think my sisters told you I had early success. I finished my seven-year apprenticeship at nineteen and was immediately taken on as a journeyman. I did my work well and continued to rise. By two-and-twenty, I was a manager of the works.

"It was too much money. As a child, I had never had more than a sixpence of my own, and that only at Christmas. As an apprentice, I would get shillings once in awhile if I did particularly well, but nothing more than that. And suddenly I had hundreds of pounds to spend.

"It went to my head. I partook of every rout and dissipation London had to offer. I gambled and drank and consorted with bad women. I did it for years, until just three years ago, when I found myself on the street after a night of debauchery, my pockets empty, my heart cold, my soul flat and stale. And I heard singing from the Methodist meeting-house; it was the hymns before their morning prayers. I stood outside for fifteen minutes before I was noticed. And then they invited me in, and I never looked back."

Elizabeth shook her head. "That is a common story for a man. A man is expected to be wild in his youth. But a bad woman …"

Mr. Warford squinted up the path. The cottage was not far off.

"I see," he said. "I see. How bad is bad?"

"I was not chaste after I was widowed. There was a man …"

"A rich man?"

"Yes."

"Just one?"

She flushed. "Yes. So you can see why I would not make a good minister's wife."

"If you repent, God will forgive you, Elizabeth. As he did for me."

She looked up at him. She said, her voice small, and then trailing off. "It is not just that. It was recent, just before I came. I am afraid there is a possibility …"

Beside her, Mr. Warford went still with shock. "No." He passed a shaking hand across his brow. "No, I do not wish to speak of this. If it is, then it is meant to be, and we will deal with it. But I do not wish to hear of this again."

She nodded her head humbly.

"You must break off all ties with the city. It is an evil place."

She shook her head. "I have no ties with the city."

"And you must not lie to me!"

She looked at him in consternation. "I am not lying to you." At least not that time, she thought. But the other lies were not selfish lies. They were lies to protect Jane. She would do anything to protect Jane.

"Do you not write to someone?"

"I? Write to someone? No."

"The fishermen once gave me a letter to post in Bristol. They said it was from the widows."

Elizabeth shook her head. "It was not me." Jane, she thought. Foolishly soft-hearted Jane, unable to leave without a word of reassurance for Mrs. Gardiner or perhaps their mother.

"You are certain? The letter was to a man with an address in Mayfair."

"What?" Elizabeth's mouth dropped open in shock.

"You did not know?"

"What was the name?"

Mr. Warford shook his head. "I do not recall. It was a long time ago, when you first arrived. I had not yet met you, or I would have been more attentive to such details. I cannot even be certain it was to a man, but that was my recollection."

Elizabeth's mind raced. Was Jane writing to Sir Henry? It was madness. He would be able to trace them from the postmarks; he might be coming now. She felt a thrill of fear. Or … could she be writing to Mr. Darcy? How could she? To expose herself in this way! To expose Elizabeth in this way, after all she had done and sacrificed! Elizabeth felt a surge of anger.

"Why does this matter, Elizabeth? Why are you so upset? Are you in some type of trouble?"

Elizabeth glanced up at Mr. Warford. She had almost forgotten he was with her. She must not betray herself.

"It is likely nothing. An old family member, I believe. I had not known that my sister was in communication with him."

"You are certain?"

Elizabeth nodded with forced calmness.

They had arrived at the cottage. Mr. Warford paused, evidently expecting to be invited in. Elizabeth looked up at him.

"Mr. Warford, normally I would invite you to dine, but there is an important matter I must speak to my sister about. I am very sorry."

"May I call later this evening?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I am sorry."

Mr. Warford took her hand again. "Elizabeth, look at me." His beautiful voice commanded her and she looked at him. "I forgive you. I will forgive you all of your past and everything that arises therefrom. I will accept you as you are now, so long as truly repent and set your feet on the paths of righteousness. Henceforth, your duty must be to me, and God."

She shook her head again. "I cannot talk of this now."

He nodded and turned on the path, walking back to the village. At the bend, he turned to look back, but Elizabeth was looking at the entrance to the cottage. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. The area of North Somersetshire (now just "Somerset") was quiet and idyllic and had not yet undergone its transformation into a popular area for seaside resorts. The first hotel in the area was built at Weston-super-mare in 1812 after the Pigott family, who were local lords of the manor, obtained an enclosure of the required lands. The interior of Somersetshire was considered wonderful farming country. However, fishing in this area did not offer much more than subsistence living, and fishermen living along this side of the Bristol Channel supplemented their income with deliveries to and from South Wales.

2\. Bristol, Somersetshire, was the birthplace of the foremost female moralist of her time, Hannah More. More and her sister Martha, evangelical Christians with suspected links to Methodism, carried out many philanthropic works in the county, including attempting to bring literacy to the labouring classes. In this, they were opposed by many landowners who counted on ignorance to keep the lower classes content with their lot.

3\. While Hannah More held progressive views for the poor, she preached a regressive, submissive piety for women, in which they ceded the active role to men while shining as a passive beacon of virtue to alternately shame and inspire him. More's feminine ideal became dominant in the Victorian age. Literary critics have theorized that Jane Austen's _Mansfield Park_ is a satirical or exploratory look at More's ideals.

4\. Methodism was a movement that had its beginning in early 18th Century England. It sought to reform the Church of England from within. Founded by Anglican cleric John Wesley (1703-1791), his brother and his friend, it stressed charity and support for the sick, the poor and the afflicted through works of mercy. Wesleyan Methodism in particular rejected the Calvinist notion that salvation was pre-ordained and instead stressed that salvation was available for all. Methodists were ardent supporters of the abolition of slavery.

5\. Open-air preaching and evangelical itineracy was a hallmark of early Methodism, which sought to bring both God and social services to neglected communities. Early on, no particular qualifications were required to preach and even female preachers were welcomed. By the time period of this story, more formal requirements were being imposed and Methodist preachers were increasingly educated and had to meet certain requirements as well as undergo a period of probation. As Hannah More's feminine ideal took hold, female Methodist preachers became marginalized and then prohibited.

6\. Methodism was embraced by the lower, working and middle classes, who sought to live virtuous lives and scorned the immorality, waste and licentiousness of the upper classes. By the early 1800s, it had begun to make significant inroads into the class of prosperous tradesmen and professionals and formed a potentially powerful political force. But while Methodists were suspected of having Radical tendencies, under the influence of one of their foremost preachers, Jabez Bunting, Methodists in 1800-1830 cleaved Tory and eschewed politics in favour of spiritual concerns.

7\. Methodism grew extremely quickly and by the mid-19th Century had been adopted by 1/6th of the English population. Unlike the Church of England, which had extensive financial supports, Methodism was funded by its members, and preachers were paid and churches and missions paid for by asking members for contribution. Reverend Robert Newton, an extremely handsome and popular preacher who had taken up his profession at the age of 19 in 1799, was instrumental in raising funds for this purpose.

8\. The literacy rate in England at this time was approximately 50%, with an uneven distribution among the different classes of society. The aristocracy, gentry and professional classes or those with such aspirations enjoyed a 100% literacy rate. For the rest, literacy typically depended on whether a family lived close to a charity school or free grammar school. Literacy rates would therefore be higher in large centres than rural communities.

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Meryton-dot-com and "LucyQT" at Fanfiction-dot-net ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	18. Chapter 18 - Sisters

**CHAPTER 18 - SISTERS**

She found Jane at the kitchen table with Hannah, humming a melody and peeling potatoes while Samuel played with a set of tin cups at their feet. Jane broke off when she saw Elizabeth.

"Hello, Lizzy! Will Mr. Warford stay to dinner?" Jane asked cheerfully. Then, seeing Elizabeth's face, she added, "Oh! What is the matter?"

"I must speak with you, Jane."

"Of course, Lizzy. But are you well? Is everything well?"

"Everything is well and everybody is well," Elizabeth said as calmly as she could. "But I have learnt some information that I find a little … surprising. I would like to consult you upon it. Hannah, can you watch Samuel, please? It does not matter if dinner is delayed."

Surprised and alarmed, Jane immediately rose, washed her hands in the basin and followed Elizabeth up the stairs. Elizabeth opened the door to the upstairs sitting room and gestured to the sofa. Jane sat.

"What is it, Lizzy?" Jane asked, a line of worry between her brows.

"Jane, did you write a letter? To someone in London?"

Jane flushed guiltily.

"Who was it?" Elizabeth demanded.

Jane looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. "Lord John." She looked up and saw Elizabeth's angry face and twisted her hands. "Only once, as soon as possible after we came. I was careful, Lizzy. I had it sent from Bristol so people would think that I sent it before we embarked; so it fit into your plan."

"How could you, Jane?"

"Oh, Lizzy! I had to. Lord John is so old and frail and he would be so upset to know that Samuel is gone. I did not wish to disappoint him or put him to any risk … "

"You did not wish to disappoint _him_? You did not wish to put _him_ to any risk?" Elizabeth said, outraged. "What about the risk for _us_? For Samuel?"

"Lizzy, I am sure it is well. Lord John would never harm Samuel."

"Never harm - ! On what do you base that, Jane? On your belief in the goodness of all? How well did that serve you in selecting a husband?"

Jane flinched as if Elizabeth had cut her, but Elizabeth was inexorable, continuing to rage as she paced furiously before her.

"And even if Lord John would preserve Samuel, what about us? What about _me_? Do you know what Sir Henry could do if he were to find us? He would take Samuel away from us. We would never see him again! As for me, he could sue me and take all of my money! Perhaps he would find some way to prosecute me. I could be transported, perhaps I might be hanged! Is that what you want?"

"No, of course not, Lizzy!" Jane cried, in tears.

Elizabeth sat down again by Jane. "Then how _could_ you, Jane?"

Jane was weeping into her handkerchief. "Lizzy, you do not know Lord John. He is not like Sir Henry at all. He was truly kind to me … He truly cared … He would want to help if he could … "

"Lord John was kind to you only because you were useful to him," Elizabeth said firmly. "Perhaps he said he cared, but that is a mere ruse. Once a man has what he wants from you, once he has no further use for you, he will discard you, he will throw you away!"

As Jane only wept harder and shook her head, Elizabeth grasped her hands. "Jane, listen to me. Lord John had no use for you until you carried Sir Henry's heir. All he is interested in is Samuel."

Jane mopped her eyes with her handkerchief and looked at Elizabeth. "But is that not reason to trust him? Because he loves Samuel?"

"What do you mean, Jane?"

"Lizzy, Lord John said he would make Samuel his heir."

"Because he has no choice, Jane. Do not allow your head to be turned by his great wealth."

Jane shook her head emphatically. "He could leave his fortune to either of his nephews or to his sister, but he said he would not; he wanted to leave the bulk of it to Samuel. He said we must make sure that Samuel grew up to be a good man; that if he did, he could redeem the honour of the Blemmells from the stain cast upon it by his nephews. He trusted me, Lizzy. He said I was a good mother to Samuel."

"Why did he turn his back on you then, after your marriage?" Elizabeth asked skeptically.

"He was sorry for that, Lizzy. He told me he had made a mistake. But it was not because he did not approve of me; it was because he knew what Sir Henry had done to me and had told him if he continued to do it, he would have to disinherit and disown him."

Elizabeth shook her head, still suspicious.

"Lizzy, you do not know Lord John; you should not judge him. He is old and set in his ways, but he is a good man. Why do you think Sir Henry never hit me when I carried Samuel?" Jane said, her voice stronger, full of conviction. "It was because Lord John protected me. He invited us to his home and he and Lady Clementina attempted to be with me at all times. Lady Clementina came to stay with me afterward as well. I was alone with Sir Henry only because he ordered her out of his house, else she would not have left me."

Elizabeth had stood up and walked away from the sofa. She was standing in front of the fireplace now, her arm leaning on the mantel, her face turned away. Jane followed her there and attempted to catch a glimpse of her face; in vain.

"I should not have concealed it from you, perhaps. But I was afraid that you would not understand and would try to stop me. If it was only me, it would not matter," she pleaded. "But there is nothing here for Samuel, not a church or even a school, nobody to teach him how to be a gentleman even, though he has noble blood. I did not want to foreclose his future."

"I would have looked after him," Elizabeth said, her face still turned away and her voice muffled. She lifted her hand to her eyes. "I would have raised him as a gentleman."

"How could you, Lizzy? By spending your life's savings? By giving up your future?" Jane touched Elizabeth's arm. "I could not let you do that, dear. And it may not have been enough. Please understand. I would not have done it for any other reason. But I did it for Samuel; I did it for my son."

Elizabeth said nothing, but Jane saw a tear, and then another and another drop onto her arm on the mantel.

"Oh, Lizzy, I am so sorry! Please look at me. Please do not cry!"

Elizabeth only shook her head and covered her face with both hands.

"Lizzy, I am so sorry. What is it? What has happened?"

Elizabeth turned to her then. "Oh, Jane! I am afraid I am with child." She burst into tears.

* * *

Many minutes later, Jane and Elizabeth had dampened many handkerchiefs and exchanged many hugs, and both sisters had satisfied themselves that it was indeed as Elizabeth feared. She had not had her menses since they had come, the mysterious sickness that had dragged her down around Christmas now had an explanation and a week ago, she had felt a first, faint flutter deep in her belly.

"What shall I do, Jane?" Elizabeth said, sniffling as she hunted for a last dry spot on her last handkerchief. "I do not wish for my child to grow up with no name and no father. Should I marry Mr. Warford?"

"Has he -" Jane asked, then broke off when Elizabeth nodded. "And would you tell him, Lizzy? That you are carrying another man's child?"

Elizabeth nodded again. "I told him. I thought that would be the end of the matter, but he said he would accept it."

Jane's face blossomed with relief and happiness. "Then everything is well! Oh Lizzy! I knew he truly loved you!"

"So you think I should marry Mr. Warford," Elizabeth said slowly.

Jane looked at her sister's face and what she saw subdued her. "You do not want to, Lizzy?"

"I … I think it would be _wise_ to marry Mr. Warford," said Elizabeth cautiously. "He is a good, kind man and I believe we would suit in many ways. I do _respect_ him very much and would do my utmost to assist him in his endeavours."

Jane shook her head slowly and sorrowfully. "Oh, Lizzy. I thought you might love him. But if you do not, you should not marry him."

"But perhaps I might _come_ to love him once we are married."

"If you might come to love him, then you should wait until you do before you marry him."

"But Jane!" Elizabeth cried, rising to her feet and throwing out her hands. "I do not have the time to wait. If I wait, everybody will know that the child was begotten when I was unwed, and not to Mr. Warford. He could not marry me then without destroying his own reputation. And we - you and I - would both be in disgrace. What would become of us, shunned and outcast? We would have to move again, just when we are safe and comfortable here."

"I do not know. I only know it is not worth it. Lizzy," Jane added in a low voice. "I did not love Sir Henry when I married him and see what it wrought."

"What do you mean, Jane?"

Jane looked down at her hands. "My husband wanted my love, Lizzy. He asked for it and I promised to give it to him but I could not."

"Because _nobody_ could love such a man."

Jane shook her head. "We do not know that. Perhaps if I had refused him, he might have found a woman who could love him and make him happy."

Elizabeth looked at Jane, sitting with her head bowed. She said slowly, "Jane, surely you do not blame yourself for what happened with Sir Henry."

"Why not, Lizzy?" came Jane's voice, trembling. She looked up at Elizabeth. "Why should I not blame myself? It was my choice."

"But what else could you do? You wished to escape Mr. Sandys, just as I did. Just as we all did."

"That does not justify my marrying Sir Henry if I could not love him. What had Sir Henry to do with Mr. Sandys? And perhaps if I had loved him, he would not have been so jealous - so angry -"

Elizabeth stared at Jane, stunned. "Jane Bennet! You will _not_ excuse Sir Henry. Sir Henry is a brute and a monster. He was a brute and a monster before you married him! Just think of what he tried to do to Samuel, his own child!"

Jane shook her head. "He did not believe Samuel was his child."

"What?" Elizabeth's mouth dropped open.

"You know Sir Henry was married before, Lizzy; that he had had a wife and son previous to me. But did you know that his son did not look at all like him?"

Elizabeth only shook her head, dismayed.

"His wife was a fashionable woman of his own station. He had loved her and trusted her, he told me. But he found out after their son was born that she had cuckolded him for years and the child was not his. She admitted it in private, he told me, but he could prove nothing though everybody knew. He was forced to accept the child as his heir."

"What happened?"

"His wife ran off with her lover, leaving the child behind. Sir Henry ignored him and left him to the servants to care for. The child died when he was about three years old, of a fever that the servants did nothing about. Sir Henry was on the continent at the time."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, shocked at the tragedy of it all, and the momentary twinge of pity she felt for Sir Henry, even as she despised him for neglecting a child. She furrowed her brow. "But what does that have to do with Samuel, Jane? You did not betray Sir Henry!"

Tears filled Jane's eyes. "No, but he thought I did. I never told you what happened that night, Lizzy. He came home early - drunk - and came upon me reading your notes."

"Oh Jane!" Elizabeth cried. "You were supposed to have destroyed each note immediately after you read them!"

"I know, Lizzy. But it was the only thing of you that I had. I could not bring myself to destroy them." Jane wiped away a tear. "Little good that did! When Sir Henry saw me, I lost my head and threw them in the fire and they all burnt up - all but a few remnants, where you called me dearest and said you loved me."

"Oh Jane!" Elizabeth wailed.

"He was so angry. But he did not hit me as I expected. Instead, he went to Samuel's room. I - I did not realize at first what he intended, and then when I did, I ran. He had ordered the nurses out. He would have taken Samuel. I only barely made it there in time."

Only to be attacked herself, Elizabeth thought with horror.

"I was so frightened, Lizzy!" Jane sobbed. "He was mad - vicious. He did not care about anything, that Samuel was his son, his heir; that he was only a tiny infant who could not hurt anybody."

Elizabeth was crying as well; she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them with a bit of her sleeve, the handkerchiefs now being a lost cause, then put her arms around Jane and held her.

At length, Jane took a deep breath and Elizabeth released her.

"I do not say that Mr. Warford would be like Sir Henry, Lizzy. But if you cannot love him, you will bring him only misery - and then you will be miserable as well, knowing that no matter how you try, you can never please him, you will always have failed him. Oh, Lizzy, do anything but marry without affection!"

Jane broke down again. Elizabeth looked at her bowed golden head sadly. She understood now why Jane had tolerated Sir Henry's abuse for so long; why she continually excused him every everything. Having breached her own sense of honour, her sister had tried and sentenced herself to unending penance.

She sighed. Unlike Jane, she absolved Sir Henry of nothing at all. But even so, she thought she understood what Jane was trying to say. Love and passion were not simple; they could not be contained and controlled, nor ordered and pre-arranged by contracts and agreements. She had seen that with Darcy, had she not? She might set on the path with Mr. Warford with the best of intentions of being a good, dutiful wife, but if her heart lay elsewhere, there was no knowing where it might lead.

"I do not know what to do, Jane," she confessed. "I was only able to come away with a few hundred pounds - all the bank would give me on short notice before I came to fetch you. I had hoped it would be years before I had to risk a return to London to see my banker, and that by then the attention would have died down and I would not be molested. It is too soon to return now. But if we move again, it will eat up much of the money and I do not know where we can go."

Jane sat up and wiped away her tears. "Could Uncle Gardiner help us? Could he act as your agent to obtain the money?"

"I have thought about that," Elizabeth sighed. "But it is such a risk. That would be the first thing Sir Henry expects and our uncle is likely to be watched. And even if he is not, would he help us? I cannot imagine it was easy for him when we left. He would be the first person Sir Henry questioned, and Sir Henry might have taken revenge by making his business suffer."

"Lizzy," Jane said hesitantly, "What about Mr. Darcy? You never speak of him; you always change the subject when I bring it up. But from what you wrote in your last few notes, it seems you came to think quite well of him. His family is too powerful to fear anything Sir Henry might do. Could he not help?"

At the look on Elizabeth's face, Jane said quickly, "I do not wish to give you pain - we do not need to talk of this, Lizzy."

"No, it is a good line of inquiry," Elizabeth said, even though her eyes had filled with tears. "It is just - we quarreled, and he was very angry at me. I thought we might surely have an opportunity to speak again, but he never came. I waited for him, but he never came. I do not think he cares for me anymore, Jane. And in any case, I believe he is to be married - he may be married now."

"But surely he would still care for his own child."

Elizabeth shut her eyes and the tears ran down her cheeks. She wiped them away and sighed. "That is the problem. I was so foolish, Jane! I did not know what it was like to have a child. I had not yet seen Samuel."

She explained the term of her contract with Darcy: if they had any children together, he would provide for them, but she must relinquish them to his care.

"From the arrangement he sought, I believe Mr. Darcy would want the child," she said. "But what would his family want? What would his wife want, if he is married? They might have to accept the child if he wills it, but would they not all insist that I have no part in its upbringing? Why would they wish to suffer my continued presence? But I could not bear it, Jane - to not know my own child!"

"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane said helplessly. "How cruel! But would Mr. Darcy really allow it? To separate a mother from her own child?"

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "I do not know. I do not think so. But even to make the initial overture is such a great risk. As soon as I write Mr. Darcy, he would be able to find us. We would all be completely in his power and there would be no ability to resist any of his demands without risking you and Samuel. Even if I was prepared to risk myself, could I risk you and Samuel?"

As if he heard his name, Samuel's cry rang out from below. Jane immediately rose to go to him. Elizabeth lingered for a moment, blotting her tears, then followed Jane downstairs. They found Hannah pacing with Samuel in the kitchen trying to soothe him. Jane relieved Hannah and took Samuel to nurse while Elizabeth helped with the remainder of the preparation for dinner.

They ate in the kitchen, then helped Hannah clear the dishes. Elizabeth asked if she might put Samuel to bed and Jane agreed and said she would assist Hannah with the rest of the clean-up and chores.

Elizabeth bathed Samuel. He chattered at her throughout his bath, making sounds that resembled no language she had ever heard, but which seemed to have meaning to him. Despite the sombreness of the evening, she could not help but smile at his baby noises; he was so in earnest, punctuating his soliloquy with expressive hand gestures. She responded in kind.

"Oya goya ma tee tot?" she asked, nodding her head solemnly, but with eyes dancing. "Ba bee bo."

Samuel beamed at her response and she laughed at his baby approval and kissed his cheek, revelling in the squeaky-clean freshness of his soft skin. They continued chattering in his nonsense language as she dried him off and slipped him into his long baby gown and bonnet for sleeping. She cuddled him, then carried him up the stairs to Jane's bedchamber, where he slept in his own crib with high sides made of woven willows. When she went to put him down, he clung to her and cried a little, but eventually he let her lay him down.

"Would you like a song, little one?" she asked tenderly over the side of the crib.

He smiled beatifically through his tears and chattered some more.

"I will take that as a yes," she laughed.

She sang him a hymn she had recently learnt at one of Mr. Warford's prayer meetings. It had been written about thirty years ago, she was told, by a Methodist preacher who had undergone a remarkable conversion from a slave trader steeped in every cruelty to a minister of God. The man had died about five years ago, but his words and thoughts had lived on.

 _Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)  
That sav'd a wretch like me!  
I once was lost, but now am found,  
Was blind, but now I see._

Samuel ceased his chatter and gurgled happily, flashing his tiny front baby teeth at Elizabeth and making her smile as she sang.

 _Thro' many dangers, toils, and snares,  
I have already come;  
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,  
And grace will lead me home._

Samuel's lids were drooping; Elizabeth could tell he would be asleep soon. She continued singing until his eyes slowly closed and then buttoned shut; until his mouth tucked in at the corners and his tightly balled little fists relaxed and opened like flowers. Then she pulled the blanket up over his little body. As she turned to leave the room, she saw Jane standing in the entryway with a candle, watching them.

"You always had such a lovely voice," Jane said softly. "I did miss it when I went away."

"It is a beautiful hymn, is it not?"

"Yes, the Methodists have wonderful music. It is my favourite part of the service." She tiptoed over to the crib and peered inside at her sleeping son, then smiled tenderly and passed her hand gently over his peaceful form. "It is remarkable how he has grown. I must begin on a new set of baby gowns."

"Yes, before we know it, he will be standing and running about."

They smiled at each other. Then Elizabeth blew out the candle by Samuel's bedside and they both crept out of the bedchamber and closed the door gently.

"Lizzy, I have been thinking," said Jane in the hallway.

"Yes?"

"You said you have thought of writing to Mr. Darcy, but you are concerned for the risk for me and Samuel."

"Yes, Jane."

"I do not think you need concern yourself with me and Samuel. I know you love us and would never do anything to harm us. If you trust Mr. Darcy enough, then we would trust him as well."

"Really, Jane?"

"Really, Lizzy."

"But what if I am wrong?"

"Then you are wrong," Jane said simply. "But Lizzy, you were willing to take a risk for me and Samuel, and you saved us. We are willing to take a risk as well if you wish to take it. And if you do not, then we will move or stay here and weather the storm, whatever you deem best."

"Thank you, Jane," Elizabeth said humbly, but inwardly full of gladness. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Jane smiled, then kissed her sister on the cheek and went down the stairs with her candle to finish helping Hannah. Elizabeth watched Jane's little light disappear down the stairs and into the kitchen, leaving her standing in the dark. But it was a kind darkness, not a cold one, softened by the moonlight shining through the landing window.

Elizabeth made her way to her own bedchamber. It was cold and dark, but Hannah had laid the fire and she found the tinder and lit it. Then she sat down at her writing desk by the window to think.

Dearest Jane! So full of love and confidence. Even after everything she had been through, she was willing to put her fate and her son's fate into the hands of others. To trust Sir Henry's uncle, Lord John; to trust Darcy, a man she did not even know. Surely it was only foolhardy on her part.

And yet ... Lord John had _not_ found them, and there was no indication that he had even made the attempt to look, though a letter sent a week or so after their supposed departure would surely raise suspicions that they remained on English soil. Could it be that Jane was right?

As for Darcy, she supposed it was not him that Jane trusted. It was her, Elizabeth. Enough to come away with her with Samuel; enough to leave London and her life behind, no questions asked. She trusted her now, to chart a course for them all. And if Elizabeth decided that Darcy was to be part of that, then Jane was prepared to trust in that too.

Elizabeth swallowed. So that was the question. Did she trust Darcy? She owed it to Jane to make a good decision, one based on rational judgment and not hurt or wounded pride.

She thought of him, of all of her dealings with him. Their initial meeting, where he had been rude and unpleasant; their subsequent encounters, hostile from her point of view, stimulating from his; and then the beginning of their relationship.

He had been kind from the first, much kinder than he needed to be. She knew how much he had wanted her that first night, yet still he had offered to wait. He had told her he did not think she was truly ready and should take more time to come to know him, but she had insisted.

Their first few weeks together: the same patience and consideration as love and friendship had blossomed. And then had come their first, vicious argument and his rage. Even then, she had not been truly frightened. She had believed deep down that he would not hurt her and she had been right.

She considered his behaviour to others. He was a good landlord and master, she knew. She had seen it with her own eyes, his unfailing courtesy to his staff and servants, except when they were on terms of friendship, as with Mr. Ogden, where both men might let their temper show once in awhile. She had seen the care with which he executed his estate duties, the hours he had spent poring over architectural drawings for a new village plan and his agonizing over the proper placement of a well, bakehouse, washhouse, shed or drain to ensure his tenants' maximum comfort and convenience.

And then there was his treatment of Lady Sophia, so different from his usual haughtiness with high society. She could not think without pain of his reverent tenderness toward her, so pointedly and publicly displayed. But that was why she loved him, was it not? Faced with a young lady who had been shunned and cast out of her world, his reaction was not to join in the scorn but to offer shelter against it.

He had displayed the same compassion for her, Elizabeth. She remembered their last meeting at the lawyers' offices, begun in anger, but ending in charity. Even at the height of his resentment, he had needed to know that she would be well and provided for.

He was not cruel, she realized. He might be proud and resentful, and haughty and judgmental, but he was never cruel. Vulnerability moved him to pity, not to dominate. Weakness called forth his instinct to protect, not to exploit.

Yes, she could trust him. She knew that now, at her weakest moment, when she had nothing to offer him and he held every power over her, there was nobody on earth she could trust more. She would willingly put her life, and Jane's and Samuel's lives, in his hands.

She raised her head from where it had been cradled in her arms and looked out the window, which opened to a view of the Channel. The moon, full and approaching its zenith, floated on the waves while a thousand tiny points of light illuminated the water.

Was Darcy seeing the same moon and stars, she wondered. Did he ever gaze on them and think of her and their many nights together, talking, laughing, arguing, dreaming?

* * *

"It is not magic and mystery that binds them together, you know," he had told her.

"No?"

"No. It is mathematics and logic."

They sat side-by-side at the end of the dock of the fishing lodge, dangling their bare feet above the water. It had been a hot day and was now a warm night, the air enveloping them like a soft blanket. Below them, the water lapped gently on the pilings of the dock, making a rhythmic _plupp-plupp_ sound. His servants were gone, dismissed to a nearby inn, and they were alone.

Her hair hung long and damp down her back from the late-night swim they had just taken in the pond and she wore only a light gown. He was similarly scantily clad, in breeches and shirtsleeves, open at the neck. Darcy leant on his hands on the dock while Elizabeth leant against him, resting her head on his shoulder and gazing up at the sky. It was a perfect, cloudless night and the sky was a glittering map of glory unfurled before them.

He told her about Sir Isaac Newton's inverse-square law: Every body in the universe exerts an attractive force on another body that was directly proportional to their mass and inversely proportional to the square of their separation distance. Newton had written about it in his _Principia_ , a three-volume work that was both the bible and the bane of every student at Cambridge, where Newton had been a student and then a fellow. A Frenchman, Laplace, had completed the theory of the universe a few decades ago by finding a solution to predict the movement of the planets. And Lady Fitzwilliam's distant cousin, Henry Cavendish, had built an ingenious apparatus just years ago that proved it beyond a doubt.

"And thus, they brought mankind out of darkness and into the light," he finished.

She had listened with rapt attention and asked for clarification at different points. But she could not resist teasing him. "Is this what they teach you at Cambridge, to spend all your time stargazing?"

He turned to her in the dark and smiled. "Indeed. The better to woo women with, my professor told me."

She laughed softly. "I have no doubt you were a good student of the _Principia_. But I had understood that wooing a woman consisted of telling her that she is as beautiful as the moon and her eyes sparkle like stars - not reciting mathematical propositions to her."

His smile deepened at the corners and he looked at her lips, just inches from his. "That might explain why my professor remained unmarried, then."

She sat up a little, away from him. They had just come from the bedchamber not an hour before; it was too soon to return there.

"And why you remain unmarried?" she teased, before remembering that he had asked her and she had rejected him. More fool her! But he only chuckled and lifted his gaze from her face back up to the stars.

"Perhaps I have not yet found a woman who appreciated my mathematical propositions."

They contemplated the sky for a moment in silence. Then Elizabeth spoke.

"Does it diminish them, do you think, to reduce them to formulae and propositions?"

He shook his head. "I do not think so. They are only more beautiful and more miraculous for being properly understood."

"So what the ancients believed was true? One can truly foretell the future in the stars?"

"Only the future transit of the planets. The stars remain fixed in place. As for the future of mankind … " he turned to look at her again. "It seems that remains entirely in our hands."

"I wonder what yours will hold," Elizabeth mused.

"Pemberley, I suppose. A family and children, I hope."

In the darkness, he scrutinized her, but she could not fully read his eyes. She was silent, and after a while, he looked up at the sky again.

"Do you ever think of having children, Elizabeth?"

She blushed. "Sometimes."

"Do you ever think of having _my_ children?"

His question, shockingly bold, caused her to catch her breath. For a moment, she wavered and thought of refusing to answer. But she told him the truth.

"Yes."

She glanced at him. He sighed deeply, and his voice was quiet, as if subdued by some great emotion.

"I think that means you love me. Does it not?"

His question made her still. She had yet to admit it, unwilling to expose herself. The old struggle exerted itself and for a moment she even thought of denying it.

"Yes," she said softly. "I do. I love you."

He touched his hand to his face and she wondered if he was brushing away a tear. But when he turned to her again, he was smiling, his eyes bright and shining in the dark. She wondered if her eyes were shining too. The moment was overpowering. To avoid it, she said, "I wonder what odd manner of creature you and I might produce."

She saw the white flash of his grin, and then he said, "Terrible, I would imagine."

"Really, terrible?" she said in dismay.

"Obstinate, impertinent, impudent, curious and questioning everything they are told, defying me at every turn, destroying their books by overuse … "

"I am not _that_ bad," she said half-jokingly but also a little hurt. "I am very careful with my books."

"... but also brilliant, beautiful, fearless in their conviction, and honest and loyal and true."

"That is better," she laughed. "And how would you suffer such ruffians as you describe?"

"Very willingly," he said cheerfully. "They would be the light of my life."

She felt tears spring into her eyes. Impulsively, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed herself to him and kissed him. He responded enthusiastically.

"I love you," she said happily, her hand on his cheek and her forehead pressed to his. "I love you, I love you, I love you. You are the most wonderful man in the world."

* * *

Her face was wet. Would she never stop crying today? But there was so much to weep for - what was; what might have been if she had not been so hasty and absurd and prejudiced.

At least, she could do one thing right. She could write Darcy and allow him to see their child if he wished. It was his right and it was what she wanted too. Whatever he decided from there, she was confident that she need not be afraid of him.

She scrubbed her face with her already damp handkerchief and lit a candle, removed a sheet of paper from her desk and drew the pen and inkwell towards herself. Then she wrote:

 _Dear Sir,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well and causes you no inconvenience. I assure you that it contains no claims upon you, nor is it my intention to press any that you are not willing to undertake voluntarily. However, a development has occurred that I feel I must in good conscience apprise you of._

 _My present situation, as you may be aware, is one of extreme delicacy and requires concealment from the world. Having said that, I feel no doubt of your secrecy that I should write to you. If you would like to hear further on this matter, I ask that you write to the post office from which this letter was sent, addressed to my name as you knew it during our arrangement, and I will endeavour to call for it within about a week's time._

 _Elizabeth_

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. The law applied a presumption that a woman's husband was the father of any child born to her while they were married. This could be rebutted by compelling evidence to the contrary, such as a sworn affidavit from the woman to that effect, or proof that the couple could not have engaged in sexual congress for the possible period of conception (e.g., they lived separate and apart). A cuckolded husband who lived with his wife would have difficulty establishing non-paternity without her cooperation.

2\. "Amazing Grace" was composed by English poet and Anglican clergyman John Newton (1725-1807) in 1773, then printed in his book _Olney Hymns_ co-authored with poet William Cowper in 1779. It remained an obscure hymn for several decades, not coming to prominence until the mid-19th Century. Newton's life was a reflection of the hymn. In his youth he worked as a slave trader, gaining notoriety for extreme profanity, debauchery and disobedience. After several near-death experiences, he underwent a religious conversion and began to write works depicting the inhuman barbarity of the slave trade. After teaching himself Latin, Greek and theology, he eventually came to the notice of the 3rd Earl of Dartmouth and was given the curacy of Olney in Buckinghamshire in 1764.

3\. Sir Isaac Newton posited his Law of Universal Gravitation (as it is now known) in the _Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica_ , first published in 1687 and re-published in 1713 and 1726. Pierre-Simon, Marquis de Laplace (1749-1827) was an influential French scholar whose work was important to the development of mathematics, statistics, physics and astronomy. His five-volume _Mécanique Céleste_ (Celestial Mechanics) (1799–1825) and the _Principia_ were closely studied by Cambridge University math scholars at the time.

4\. Henry Cavendish FRS (1731-1810) was an important British scientist, noted for his discovery of hydrogen and the first practical demonstration of Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation in 1798. A distant relation by marriage of Lady Fitzwilliam's through the Duke of Devonshire / Earl of Bessborough connection, he left over a million pounds when he died in 1810, including a legacy of one hundred thousand pounds to Lady Fitzwilliam's sister-in-law Lady Bessborough. This allowed her to pay off some of her family's debts and remove the Bessborough estate from a trust jointly held by the Earl Fitzwilliam and the Duke of Devonshire to protect it from creditors.

5\. The introduction of mail coach service in 1784 revolutionized mail delivery. The inaugural London-Bristol route in 1784 took 14 hours to travel one-way, with return by post within 36 hours. Similar daily service became available throughout England between major centres and larger towns. Delivery times to approximately 800 locations were published in common and accessible publications like Paterson's Roads so it became possible for people to predict with a fair degree of accuracy when an addressee would be in receipt of one's letter. Mail service would not exist to some remote locales, especially where the population was not literate. 

© 2017 by "LucyQ" at Meryton-dot-com and LucyQT at fanfiction-dot-net - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	19. Chapter 19 - A Meeting

**CHAPTER 19 - A MEETING**

The day was fine, the way was dry and the hoar frost covering the ground and the hawthorn branches sparkled and glinted in the bright sunlight. In the sturdy old farm cart, Elizabeth and her passengers, Hannah and her brother Jacob, their odd-job boy, were full of cheer and anticipation.

The siblings were bound for Axbridge, a mid-sized town in the Mendip Hills about ten miles inland. It was market day and Elizabeth had promised them they could enjoy themselves so long as they got the marketing done. They would let her off at Cross, a little village about three-quarters of a mile up the road that existed almost solely to service the mail coaches and stagecoaches that plied the Bristol-to-Bridgwater route.

At Cross, Elizabeth halted the cart and gave Jacob the reins and Hannah the money, adding a crown extra for each of them. They beamed at the treat and urged the pony on, jostling each other's shoulders in their excitement. Elizabeth stood for a moment watching the cart roll away down the road, then turned to look around her. There were a smattering of houses, a few sheds and two handsome white buildings, their second storeys rising high above the main street. _White Hart_ , said one. _New Inn, Post House_ said the other. She made her way to the New Inn and entered.

The inn was quiet. Through an archway, she saw the common dining room was empty, although two serving staff worked to sweep the room and clear the table from the detritus of a large group meal. She must have just missed a stagecoach stopping. Turning the other way, she observed hallways leading into the recesses of the building, a staircase to the upper floor and a long counter with two signs over it. Under the "Post" sign, she observed an elderly man sorting through papers. Behind him, a younger man worked at a desk. She made her way over to the Post counter.

"Is there a letter for Elizabeth Smith?" she inquired of the elderly man. In front of the counter, a young boy, perhaps nine or ten years old, sat up straighter on his stool.

"I will see."

The elderly man departed for the back room. The younger man at the desk looked up at her appraisingly and, for a moment, she was nervous that he might have identified her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to use the same assumed name. She turned away to study the watercolours on the walls. The young boy on the stool had disappeared.

The elderly man returned. "Nothing, madam."

"Nothing? Perhaps just for a Mrs. Smith?"

He left for the back room again, then returned. "Nothing."

"Try 'Elizabeth,'" she said in desperation.

He gave a little huff of exasperation, but departed again before returning, shaking his head.

She turned away to hide her disappointment. She supposed she should not have counted on anything. After all, he had paid her out generously and moved on with his life - to another woman and hopes of another family. As well, she had not been very clear in her letter about why she was writing. Why should he decide to voluntarily submit to any further dealings with her? But for some reason, she had expected he would have cared enough to write, if only to say so.

Perhaps her distress showed, for the younger man rose from his desk and came forward. "It may arrive today," he said. "The mail coach comes at two o'clock. Would you like to wait? There are newspapers in the coffee room."

She shook her head. If a letter had not come by now, it was unlikely to. But still, she paused. She was here; it made sense to make one more attempt.

"I am meeting my companions at Axbridge. Perhaps we will attempt to stop in on our return journey."

The younger man glanced over her shoulder, down the hall. "Truly, it is not a long wait. The mail coach is sometimes early and the coffee here is very good. There is tea and chocolate as well."

"No, thank you," she said, turning away and tying her bonnet strings. "Perhaps later, after I have found my companions -"

"Elizabeth!"

She whirled around, then stared, unbelieving, at the tall man hurrying down the staircase. It was Darcy, not looking his usual impeccable self, but instead dressed only in shirtsleeves and waistcoat as if he had not stopped to don his coat. The boy who had been sitting on the stool trailed after him. He pocketed the gold coin Darcy pressed into his hand with alacrity and ran out the doors happily.

Unable to conceal her astonishment, she stammered her greetings. "Mr. Darcy! Where - where did you come from? Are you bringing your letter yourself? Oh no - of course not, how silly -are you - did you - why are you here?"

"You wrote," he said, as if that explained everything. He walked over to her quickly and reached out to touch her, lightly pressing her arm as if to make sure she was real. He smiled, then released her and stepped back. "I had to see you, to assure myself that you are well. And you are well? You look - just the same as always."

"I am very well, very well indeed." She scarcely knew what she said. "And - and you? Are you well?"

"Yes, very well."

They stared at each other speechlessly for a long moment, both a little shocked. At the counter, the young man cleared his throat.

"Mr. Darcy, sir, the Blue Room has a fire going. Shall I send in some tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Steering Elizabeth down the hall, his hand at her elbow, Darcy opened the last door, which opened into a small room with a table and chairs and a sofa by the fireplace. Elizabeth took off her bonnet and looked around uncertainly until he gently removed it from her hands and hung it on the pegs. He then held out his hand for her pelisse, which she handed over with some surprise that he should know his way around so well.

"You are staying here?" she asked.

"For approximately a week. I came as soon as I could."

She blinked, pleased that he would do so much for her. But she did not want to give way to false hope.

"I am sorry to make you wait, but I was merely expecting the letter, not the man," she smiled, then added, more seriously, "I did not expect you to come."

"Could I do otherwise?" He gestured to the table. "Please, sit down. I imagine I know why you summoned me."

"Do - do you?" She sat down, a little surprised at his calm, matter-of-fact tone. But perhaps he had done this before.

"Yes, I think so. But tell me first, where do you live? What is your situation? Are you close by to here? How did you come? Did you come alone?"

She explained the cottage and the fishing village and the farm cart and Hannah and Jacob.

"It is safe?" At her nod, he demanded, "And you are comfortable? You have had everything you need?"

"Yes, my sister and I have been very comfortable. Thank you."

"And young Samuel?"

"He is very well. Growing quickly," she said, bemused at his interest in items of little consequence compared to the reason why she had summoned him.

He sat back in his chair, satisfied. "Good. I expect you wish to hear about Lord John?"

"Lord John?" she answered, surprised.

A knock sounded at the door and a servant poked her head in. "Tea, sir?"

"Yes, thank you."

He nodded to the table as the woman brought in the tea tray. Darcy poured Elizabeth a cup which she accepted gratefully, blowing on it. It was not overly hot, but she was relieved to have something to do as she attempted to understand their strange conversation.

Darcy waited until the door closed behind the servant, then turned back to her. "What were we speaking of? Oh yes, Lord John. I can vouch for his _bona fides_ , Elizabeth. It is good to be cautious, but in this case I assure you that neither you nor Lady Blemmell have anything to fear."

"I am glad to hear that," she said, confused. How did he know her concerns?

"Our lawsuit was against Sir Henry only. Nobody questions Lady Blemmell's fitness and there will be no challenge in that vein. Your sister is safe, as is Samuel."

"Lawsuit? Fitness? Mr. Darcy," she said desperately, "I am completely at sea. I know nothing of what you speak. Lord John I know of, but I have no knowledge of any lawsuit."

"You did not summon me about Lord John's advertisement? It was in all of the newspapers."

"Advertisement? No. I have not seen it. What did the advertisement say?"

"Only that if you and Lady Blemmell would emerge from your fastness, he would honour and guarantee Lady Blemmell's position as Samuel's mother and there would be no repercussions for either of you, only unending gratitude on his part."

"But how would he do that? What about Sir Henry?"

It was Darcy's turn to stare. "You have not been reading any newspapers, have you?"

She shook her head. "No. We are isolated along the coast. Our nearest neighbours are fishing folk and they do not read. I did not wish to draw attention to myself by ordering a newspaper." And she had shrunk from the thought of coming across Darcy's marriage announcement. "Perhaps you could tell me what has happened in our absence?"

So he told her.

He had returned from his fruitless search for her to find advertisements offering an award for information about her coachman and Lady Blemmell's nursemaid. Alarmed, he had made inquiries and learnt that the advertisements had been placed not by Sir Henry but Lord John, and that uncle and nephew might be at war with each other. He arranged a meeting with Lord John.

"I was cautious, as you might imagine, but it was nothing compared with Lord John," he smiled. "I suppose an old Tory like Lord John is not inclined to look favourably on a young Whig like me. But I eventually persuaded him to confide in me."

Lord John had indeed received Jane's letter. He had also heard from Mr. Samson. After the old butler had allowed Jane to leave, he had sought shelter from Sir Henry with Lord John. On the strength of those two accounts, Lord John wished to challenge Sir Henry for custody of Samuel, but he was unsure how to go about it. He was eighty-two years old and his sister scarcely five years younger and the only lawyers they had known dealt in estates and trusts, not high-profile lawsuits.

That was where Darcy came in. He produced Jane's nursemaid Gladys and her coachman James and introduced Lord John to an excellent lawyer, Henry Brougham.

"I did not know Sir Henry's right to Samuel could be challenged," Elizabeth marvelled. "I had understood it was unassailable."

"It cannot be challenged by Lady Blemmell," Darcy replied. "But it can be challenged by another man on evidence that Sir Henry is a threat to his son's life."

It was no easy task. Sir Henry was not without friends and he had the backing of his cousin, who had many noble and powerful friends including the Prince Regent himself. They were ready to testify as to Sir Henry's good character and generous nature. And he had the fragments of Elizabeth's letters, suggesting that Jane had had a lover.

Darcy and the solicitors worked hard under Brougham's direction, locating and interviewing witnesses from among Sir Henry's former servants and employees to build a case against him. Susan, the flower seller, was called to explain the source of the letter fragments.

The trial had riveted London. The Blemmells were an ancient, powerful and well-connected Tory family. A civil war within it garnered attention from the highest to the lowest echelons of society. The ton returned early from their country estates to take in the spectacle and take up their side. Outside of Chancery, the people packed Westminster Hall and overflowed out onto the streets, while newspaper criers and street vendors plied a brisk trade. And entry tickets offering a seat to the courtroom were considered rarer and more valuable than any voucher to Almack's.

"That was when I learnt the meaning of true popularity," he chuckled. "I could not even begin to answer the correspondence begging me for news or asking for my intercession for a seat in the courtroom."

They lost a key battle early on: the judge would not allow Jane's letter to be read aloud and admitted as evidence. Not only was it hearsay but, under the law of couverture, Jane and her husband were considered one in law and she could not testify against him.

The main witnesses for their side were Gladys and Mr. Samson. Shy, timid and clearly frightened of the entire proceedings, Gladys nevertheless told a clear story: She and the other maids had been in Samuel's room, rocking him to sleep in his cradle, when the door had burst open with a bang, sending it off its hinges. Instinctively, she had picked up the baby, then found herself facing Sir Henry in a rage of passion. The other maids had immediately fled. Sir Henry had picked up the cradle, sending it flying against the wall, where it smashed into bits. No, she could not tell if he knew whether the cradle was empty or not. But when he saw her holding Samuel, he demanded that she hand over the babe.

She did not know what to do. She was very frightened of what might happen if she gave him Master Samuel. She was backing away from him praying that help would come when Lady Blemmell arrived and took the baby from her. She saw him strike Lady Blemmell once while her mistress shielded the baby, then she fled in terror.

Even more compelling than Gladys was Mr. Samson. He had not wanted to testify, seeing it as a breach of his duty to the Blemmell family to expose one of their members. But Lord John convinced him that he had a higher duty to preserve the family and the future of it. So at last he agreed.

The Samsons had always worked for the Blemmells, since the days of his great-grandfather. He himself had entered their service as a young boy and worked his way up. Thirty years ago, upon Sir Henry's marriage and his purchase of his own home, he had gone to serve as his butler.

He told the Court of Sir Henry's first disastrous marriage and the birth and then death of his young heir, whose nurses Sir Henry had enjoined against seeking medical assistance should the child fall sick. He then described Sir Henry's marriage to Jane and his jealousy and control - how he had her watched at all times; how Sir Henry denied her all money except for the most paltry sums. And then he told of his final decision to defy Sir Henry and let Lady Blemmell remove Samuel from the townhouse.

"I heard from Gladys what had happened, and Sir Henry himself raged to me about Master Samuel being a cuckoo in the nest," the dignified old man had testified in a quavery voice. "But I could not see how that could be so. Lady Blemmell never left the house except in his company or to a destination he approved; she was as devoted to him as any woman could be. And Master Samuel has a strong stamp of the Blemmells; he reminded me of my late master.

"I have thought of the first child for many years now," he said. Tears slid down his lined and wrinkled face and half of the people in the packed courtroom, including some members of the jury, pulled out their own handkerchiefs. "He has weighed upon my conscience; Blemmell or no, I could not allow it to happen again to another boy."

"Oh, poor Mr. Samson," Elizabeth lamented. "I misjudged him; I had been so angry with him for standing by and doing nothing all those years."

"It took him time, but in the end he did what was needful," Darcy said. "Lord John has looked after him; he has given him a cottage and pensioned him off."

"Oh, I am glad!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "And did Lord John win?"

"There is no doubt he would have. The jury had turned against Sir Henry and his own friends and cousin had deserted him; none of them had come to the courthouse for days. But the question was rendered moot. Before a verdict was rendered, Sir Henry was shot and killed in a duel."

"What!" she gasped. "How?"

"It was not I," Darcy said in reply to her searching look. "It was someone wholly unconnected to any of us."

Seeing Mr. Samson speak had sent Sir Henry into a rage, but this time it occurred in open court. At the close of his testimony, as Mr. Samson stepped off the witness stand and walked by Sir Henry's chair, Sir Henry leapt on his faithful old retainer and struck him a blow before he could be restrained by his own lawyers. This, more than any witness, demonstrated the ungovernability of his temper. When he left that day, the crowd jeered and laughed at him, and the mob pelted his carriage with rotten fruit and stones. They smashed the windows of his carriage and attempted to drag him out of it. He escaped by the skin of his teeth.

"But he is not the type of man to take responsibility for his own failings, so he took it out on his mistress," Darcy said. At Elizabeth's look of alarm, he hastened to assure her. "She was a little hurt, but she is recovered now. She was able to flee and, unlike Lady Blemmell, she had a man to defend her - her brother, who was an officer on leave from the army. When Roy saw what had happened to his sister, he immediately issued a challenge to Sir Henry, which he could not but accept if he wished to retain any claim to the name gentleman. Roy made short work of it; he is known as a crack shot in the army."

"Oh dear. Was he prosecuted?"

"Another trial, this time for murder. But I thought Roy had a good chance and I was right. Sir Henry was a pariah after Lord John's suit, and Roy had distinguished himself at Salamanca. Public sympathy for him was at a fever pitch. I got word from Brougham just three days ago that the jury acquitted him."

"You paid for his defence?"

"I had to. He deserved proper representation and there would have been rioting in the streets if he was convicted."

She took a deep breath, overcome with emotion, and reached for her handkerchief. It was all over.

Darcy smiled. He leant forward and took Elizabeth's hands gently into his own. "You did it, Elizabeth. Young Samuel is a baronet now with the fortune to match, and as Sir Henry had not thought to alter his will, Lady Blemmell is named his sole guardian. Lord John and Lady Clementina have also announced publicly that mother and son shall be their heirs. So you have nothing to fear now. You saved your sister. You can both come home."

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "That was not me. That was _you_. You did it all - you showed Lord John the way and found Mr. Brougham and managed everything. And then Jane, of course, writing that letter. I was so angry when I learnt, but she was right. She was right about Lord John. And Lord John and Mr. Samson and Gladys and - and everybody."

"Many people played a part. But you began it, Elizabeth. We only continued what you started."

His face glowed with warmth and admiration and his eyes were dark with emotion as he leant across the table toward her. How beautiful he was when he smiled, and how she longed to kiss him! She flushed at the thought, then remembered that he must belong to another woman now. She sat back in her chair with a little sigh and gently withdrew her hands.

"How did your family take the news that you had dealings with a Tory such as Lord John? They must have been a little alarmed," she said, lightly changing the subject.

"Initially, they were concerned," he said matter-of-factly. "But I did not hear much of it after the trial began. They have more pressing concerns just at present."

In response to Elizabeth's quizzical look, he explained with a wry smile, "Colonel Fitzwilliam has eloped with the Marquess of Dunford's wife. The Dunfords are headed for a divorce."

Elizabeth gasped, then wrinkled her brow in bemusement. "I suppose I ought to be shocked, but it does not seem so terrible after everything else that has happened. And then of course Colonel Fitzwilliam's habits … "

"Ah, yes. But I must defend my cousin; this is not a fleeting passion for him. Lady Dunford is his cousin and he has been in love with her since they were children. It was when she married Lord Dunford that he transferred to an overseas combat regiment."

"Oh," Elizabeth said, subdued. "That is very unfortunate."

"Yes, it is, for the Whig party as much as anybody, as Lord Dunford is a good Whig and this is bound to cause internal divisions at a time when they are ill-afforded. But I do not wish to talk about Colonel Fitzwilliam or the Whigs. What of you, Elizabeth? What shall you do now? What would you like to do?"

"Oh!" In the excitement of his news, she had almost forgotten her reason for summoning him. "I have something to tell _you_ now."

"Yes?" he said expectantly.

She looked up at him, then dropped her eyes. Out with it, Elizabeth. "I am with child."

He made a sudden movement toward her. At her startled look, he subsided. But she saw that he looked not only shocked but … happy.

"Elizabeth," he said when he had recovered. His voice shook with emotion. "That is wonderful."

"You do not mind?"

"Mind? Of course not. I have dreamt of it. But tell me, are you well? Have you seen a physician? How far along are you?"

"I am not certain. Four or five months, I would guess. And no, I have not seen anybody."

"We must have a physician."

"If you like. But Mr. Darcy," she said firmly, having realized that his news had changed everything for her as she was now able to access her money herself, "I would prefer not to relinquish the child, even if it means foregoing your financial assistance."

His smile faded. "That is not what we agreed upon."

"I know. I know what I pledged. But I cannot do it, Mr. Darcy. And if you demand it, I may be forced to flee again."

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was grave.

"In that case, I shall certainly not press any demands." He inclined his head formally. "Is this why you wrote to me, to tell me that?"

"Not exactly. I did not know that Jane and I were able to return to London when I wrote you. I had intended to ask for your assistance in dealing with my banker and I had hoped to negotiate with you with regards to the child."

"I see. And now that you no longer have need of me, you wish for me to have no part in my child's life?"

She heard the edge of bitterness in his voice and glanced up at him. His mouth was turned down in anger, but with her new understanding of him, she realized that what she saw in his eyes was not anger but pain.

"No - no," she said eagerly. "I do want you to be part of the child's life. I only wish to be a part of it too. Can we not come to an arrangement in which we both play a part?"

"You mean we would share it?"

"Yes. You have many claims on your attention, Mr. Darcy. Even if you took the child you would have to hire nursemaids and governesses. Why can I not look after my own child when you will be so often occupied elsewhere?"

"You would permit me to visit?"

"Of course. If you will accept that I am this child's mother."

He looked confused. "I had never intended it otherwise." He saw the relief on her face and frowned. "Did you think I had?"

"It is what you sought in the contract. Why else would you demand such a provision?"

"Because I would have no rights otherwise. If we had married, the child would have been mine, but because you refused me, I had no claim. We might have a child, we might have many children, but they might not know me unless you willed it so. Do you think I could stand that?" he asked passionately. "To be a stranger to my own children while they called another man 'Papa'? Why should I not seek to protect myself?"

Tears filled her eyes. So his fears had been exactly her own! How suspicious and distrustful she had been. She smiled at him through her tears. "I am glad you wish to be a father to this child. I would not want it to be anybody but you."

She held out her hands again and his face softened as he took them into his. "I feel the same way. I cannot think of anybody I would prefer to be the mother of my child but you."

They stared at each other for a long moment, both smiling. Then Darcy cleared his throat again and said they should discuss the arrangements. He proposed that he settle a trust on the child and purchase her a comfortable home close by his own in London or Derbyshire so that he could see the child frequently. She agreed it was a good plan. They then settled that in the immediate present, she would journey to London with Jane and Samuel and contact him from there. She assured him that she had enough money for this.

They had spoken for two hours and Elizabeth said it was time for her to find her companions again. He nodded and rose and found her coat and bonnet. Helping her into it, then opening the door, he paused at the threshold.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes, sir?"

"May I see you? When you are settled in London?"

She laughed softly. "I thought we had agreed that you would visit as frequently as you liked."

"Once the child is born, yes. But I would like to see you before that, if I may. Perhaps I can take you and Lady Blemmell to the theatre or opera sometime? We can use the Fitzwilliam box."

She was pleased. "I am sure my sister would enjoy that very much."

"And may I call upon you? As a friend?"

She glanced up at him, surprised. "I - yes, I would like that. But would your wife not mind?"

"My wife?"

She blushed. "Or your betrothed?"

"My wife? My betrothed? Elizabeth, what are you talking about?"

Her face got hotter; she could feel it spreading down her neck.

"Who am I supposed to have married?" he demanded.

She found her voice, finally, though her face was still burning. "Lady Sophia?"

"Lady Sophia? Lady Sophia Fitzroy?" His eyebrows went up. He had been holding the door open. He shut it now with a bang and steered her back into the room, this time to the sofa. They sat down and he faced her. "Why would you think that I would marry Lady Sophia?"

"I - I heard that was your family's plan. And I saw you with her at Lady Fitzwilliam's ball."

"You were watching me?"

"Not by design," she said defensively. "But I was in the neighbourhood at a bookshop and I was curious. I only saw you from the outside, on the street."

She peered at him. He did not seem angry; rather flattered.

"I spoke with her a few times and danced with her once that night, I think. If you saw anything more than that, you were mistaken."

"It was the way you spoke to her. You seemed so gentle and … tender. And she seemed the ideal match - rich and beautiful and sweet and kind."

He stared at her. "I felt sorry for her. She had made the same mistake as my sister." Briefly he explained that what had happened to Lady Sophia was similar to what had occurred to Georgiana with his former friend, George Wickham.

"Oh."

"In any case, she is Lady Sophia no longer. She married a young Irish peer and is now Lady Fairfax. I understand from Georgiana, with whom she is great friends, that they are a very happy couple."

"Oh."

He looked at her speculatively and she blushed under his scrutiny. He said thoughtfully, "So you saw me with Lady Sophia that night and thought I was to be married."

"Yes," she said in a small voice, unable to meet his eyes.

"And that was right before you told me you did not want to be my mistress any longer."

"Yes," she said again, looking down at her hands and blushing furiously.

At his silence, she darted a glance at him. He looked surprised but pleased. When he saw her looking, he smiled.

"It never occurred to me to marry Lady Sophia. And it is quite likely she never thought of me either."

"But surely you knew Lady Fitzwilliam's wishes."

"Oh that, of course. But Lady Fitzwilliam is always wishing me to marry somebody or other. She is similar to Lady Catherine in that respect, except she varies the choice of bride more frequently. It is a hazard of their generation, I believe. But you never seemed particularly impressed by Lady Catherine."

"Lady Fitzwilliam is different. She has a greater stature, and you yourself seemed to value her opinion far more than that of Lady Catherine."

"I am very grateful to Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam. They were very kind to both me and Georgiana after my father's death and I rely upon their assistance with Georgiana. But I will marry whom _I_ choose, and no one else."

Elizabeth fell silent, blushing again.

He took her hand in his and leant toward her, catching her eye. "There is only one woman I wish to marry, Elizabeth. One woman who has my heart. I think you know who she is."

For a moment her heart leapt, but then she remembered. She looked at him sadly. "You cannot marry me."

"Not if you refuse me again," he said soberly. "Is that what you are doing?"

"I do not want to refuse you, but I do not wish to be your ruin either. How can you marry me? A fallen woman? You will be scorned by society."

"Yes, it is true; I will be scorned by society. But I would have been scorned before, when you were not fallen and only the daughter of a tradesman. I was willing to bear it then, when I had only an inkling of who you are and was still upbraiding myself for potentially being fooled by a pretty face. How much more would I embrace it now, when I truly know you?"

She shook her head and tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but he only held onto her more tightly.

"That was different," she said. "Then, the gulf was not so large and I did not fully understand about your family. But now I know. Your family is very great, Mr. Darcy, and I will not live to be anybody's shame and regret."

"I am very proud of my family and have tried to live up to it," he said quietly. "But Elizabeth, how do you think a great family becomes great? It is not by being buffeted about like a small ship on the stormy sea, always doing as others bid you. Nor is it simply to amass wealth and great homes. It is by doing what is right. _You_ are the most right thing I know. I want _you_ \- your strength and loyalty and beauty - in my family, to adorn my line and grace all of my descendants. I want _our_ child at Pemberley, I want _our_ son to be my heir. And if the world does not understand that, then the world should be scorned, not I."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I should not let you do this."

"You can stop it. You can tell me 'no' if that is what you wish to say. I cannot do this alone. We will both be scorned. It matters naught to me; it is a small loss compared to what I would gain. But I cannot answer for you. if you do not love me enough to bear it, then I suppose you must tell me 'no' and break my heart. It will heal eventually, I hope."

She shook her head. "Love for you is not an area in which I am lacking."

"Then why should we be apart? Do you think I am afraid of the world? I am far more afraid of you, refusing to be part of my world. But Elizabeth, if you will deliver your happiness and the happiness of our child into my keeping, I swear that I will work every day of my life to deserve it."

His voice was pleading and his eyes were bright. She touched his cheek gently. "There is no work required. You already deserve it."

"Then …?" He gazed at her earnestly and what he saw in her face made him grip her hand more tightly. He knelt down on one knee on the floor before her, still holding fast to her hand.

"Elizabeth, I love you. Will you do me the honour of consenting to be my wife?"

She gazed at him tenderly. "Mr. Darcy, I believe the honour would be all mine."

"Is that a yes?" he demanded.

She smiled; she wanted to laugh. "Yes," she said.

* * *

Mary Taylor sighed. The maidservant at the New Inn hated when the stagecoach arrived late; it meant all of the passengers demanded to be watered and fed immediately for fear they would run out of time before it was time to leave again. And then too, they were so careless in their haste. One of them had knocked a glass on the floor, where it had smashed.

She deposited the last of the dishes in the kitchen, then picked up a broom to sweep away the glass. On her way back to the common dining room, she passed the door of the Blue Room and felt a guilty twinge. It had been half an hour since she had refreshed the hot water for Mr. Darcy's tea.

She wondered at Mr. Darcy and the very pretty young lady he was speaking to. Normally the manager did not allow an unmarried couple the use of one of the private apartments for any length of time. But Mr. Darcy was a highly valued customer - he and his men had claimed one-quarter of the rooms at a time when business was slow - and he was too severely proper a young man to be suspected of anything untoward. This she knew, because some of the prettier housemaids had been trying to flirt with him all week, to no avail. Which was really too bad, she giggled to herself as she set down the broom and dustpan in a corner so she could fetch the tea tray. She had never seen a man look so much like the romantic hero in a novel. She had been looking forward to hearing the housemaids' stories about their flirtations with Mr. Darcy. It gave her a wicked thrill and was something to dream about on cold, lonely nights.

Mary knocked on the door to the Blue Room. "Sir? Are you still there? Do you wish for more tea?"

Hearing no reply, she pushed the door open and walked boldly in, then froze to her spot. On the sofa in front of her was proper Mr. Darcy and the young lady, locked in a passionate embrace.

She immediately fled for the door, muttering apologies. But as neither of them had taken the least notice of her, she paused on the threshold and turned to get another look. Was his hand really _there_? And hers _there_? Shocked and titillated, she kept her gaze fixed on them while she tiptoed for the tea tray, then backed slowly out of the room. This time she would have a tale to tell to the other housemaids, and plenty to dream about for many a winter night.

* * *

At length, Elizabeth broke off their kiss, though she remained sitting in his lap. "Oh! Hannah and Jacob!"

"Who are Hannah and Jacob?" Darcy murmured, nibbling on her neck, then trying to recapture her lips.

"Our maid and odd-job boy. I told them I would meet them at Axbridge. They must be so worried!"

"They are likely on their way back now." He pulled her close again.

She peered out the window and tried to extricate herself from his lap. "The market must be over by now, and it will be dark before long. I must find them and return."

His grip on her waist tightened. "I will take you. I will send my men to find Hannah and Jacob."

They were not difficult to locate, having indeed headed back to Cross. They were worried and unhappy until they saw Elizabeth, then awed by the sight of Darcy and Elizabeth's introduction of him as her betrothed. But their trepidation was replaced by excitement when they saw his impressive equipage and Darcy told them he would take them all back in his carriage.

The carriage made the journey back to the cottage much more quickly than the old farm cart. When they arrived in the clearing, Elizabeth saw Jane standing on the step holding Samuel wrapped in a blanket. She looked pale. Elizabeth alighted from the carriage quickly, knowing her sister must be anxious for her return, and made doubly so at the sight of the rich carriage and tall riders accompanying it.

"Jane dearest, this is Mr. Darcy," she said after they had all disembarked and Jane had been assured that all was well.

"Mr. Darcy," Jane dropped into a graceful bow.

"Lady Blemmell. I am very honoured to meet you." Darcy bowed deeply, then looked at the bright-eyed boy in her arms, reaching out his little hands for Elizabeth. He smiled. "And this must be young Sir Samuel."

"Sir Samuel?" Jane queried, looking at Elizabeth in wonder and confusion.

"We have so much to tell you, Jane. Shall we go inside?"

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. Through the 18th and early 19th Century, the courts were increasingly willing to exercise their _parens patriae_ (literally, "parent of the nation") powers to take away custody from a neglectful, abusive, financially insolvent, immoral or irreligious father. In such cases, the courts typically granted custody to another relative such as a grandparent, uncle or aunt or made the child a ward of the court.

2\. The one exception to this trend was when a wife sued her husband for custody of the children. In such cases, the courts held a strict line in favour of paternal rights and also endorsed legal barriers that made it nigh impossible for a wife to sue.

3\. In the 1804 case of _De Mannville v De Mannville_ , the Court of Chancery ruled that despite the husband's "detestable" behaviour, it preferred to leave custody in his hands to force the wife to return home and re-submit herself to her husband's control. It also ruled that until the wife obtained authorization from the ecclesiastical courts to live apart from her husband, she did not even have standing to ask for custody since the law of couverture deemed her a part of her husband, and a person could not sue oneself.

4\. Between 1805-1840, there were 12 more reported cases of petitions seeking forfeiture of paternal rights of custody. All 5 of the non-wife petitioners were successful, whereas only 1 of the 7 wife petitioners succeeded, and only because her husband did not oppose her petition, being imprisoned for a felony conviction and awaiting transport in a prison hulk. Otherwise, the courts resisted any attempts by a wife to deprive a husband of control of their children no matter how flagrant his behaviour. In the 1831 case of _M'Clellan_ , for example, the court rejected the wife's attempt to gain custody from her husband of their sole surviving child after their other two children had died in his care.

5\. Henry Brougham (1778-1862), later 1st Baron of Brougham and Vaux, was a brilliant lawyer, journalist, co-founder of the _Edinburgh Review_ (1802) and, from 1810, an MP in the House of Commons. Despite his reputation as the best speaker in the House, Brougham struggled to gain respect from the noblemen and aristocrats who filled Parliament and who referred to him derisively as " _The Lawyer_." In 1830 Brougham became Lord Chancellor in the 2nd Earl Grey's government, where he was instrumental in bringing in Parliamentary Reform. He was also known as an ardent champion of public education and the abolition of slavery. Despite his liberal views on some issues, he held a hard line when it came to paternal rights of custody.

6\. Denied any avenue to political power, the masses regularly took to the streets to express their discontent and the London mob was a fearsome beast that bowed before no man or woman, regardless of rank. The mob attacked King George III's state coach in 1795, smashing in the windows with him inside; it also attacked the Prince Regent's carriage in 1817; and in 1830, it trashed the Duke of Wellington's London house after he refused to countenance Parliamentary Reform.

7\. Although duelling _per se_ was not illegal in Regency England, a person who injured or killed another in a duel could certainly be charged with assault or murder. However, the law recognized the defence of "extenuation," which, if successful, could result in acquittal. As summarized by the judge in the 1808 case of _R v Campbell_ , the defence required proof that: 1) the provocation was great; 2) the duel was totally fair with clear consent from both sides; and 3) there must have been an element of necessity in fighting the duel, in the form of loss of reputation with no means of honourable reconciliation. The law also accepted that military men would feel insults to their more honour more acutely than civilians and be less capable of refusing a duel with their honour intact.

© 2017-18 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	20. Chapter 20 - Discussions

_**Author's Note:** Sorry for the hiatus! I was busy and doing a bit of mental inventory after removing this story from A Happy Assembly (AHA). The next chapter is done and will be posted in about a week. After that, I can make no promises, but my intention is to finish the story here, on FFN. For those of you who followed this story at AHA, the coming chapters replace the last full chapter and the synopsis I had posted there. As always, thanks to my beta, JRTT._

 _ **Warning:** Explicit._

* * *

 **CHAPTER 20 - DISCUSSIONS**

They spoke at considerable length, Elizabeth explaining with Darcy interjecting occasionally to add further detail. At last, they were done.

"Jane?" Elizabeth pressed her sister's hand with concern. Jane's face was pale.

"I am well, Lizzy. I am well. Did Sir Henry … did he have any message for me?"

Elizabeth's face lit with anger, but Darcy spoke. His voice was gentle. "He did. His last words were for you."

"What - what did he say?"

"He asked for you several times. Then when he learnt that you could not come, he apologized to you."

"Apologized?"

"His final words according to his second were, 'Jane - tell her I am sorry.' And then, 'tell her to look after our son.' "

Jane covered her face with her hands. Elizabeth rose from her chair and went to put her arms around her, but Jane shook her head and she sat down again. After a time, Jane said, lifting her wet face, "I forgive him. He is Samuel's father." She glanced at Elizabeth and said, slightly more loudly, with a plea in her voice, "I forgive him, Lizzy."

Elizabeth shook her head, then sighed. "I know, Jane."

"I think I would like to retire now." She glanced up at Darcy. "Will you excuse me? Lizzy, perhaps you can sleep with me tonight, and your bedchamber can be fitted up for Mr. Darcy."

"Thank you, madam." They had earlier decided that Darcy and his valet would remain at the cottage while his men would travel to a town up the coast, to seek lodgings and stabling at an inn.

Elizabeth saw Jane to bed, then went to check on Darcy in her bedchamber. The door was ajar, so she peeked in and saw him, standing with his valet at the small table that served her as both desk and dressing table. It seemed his valet had managed to locate water, for the basin was full. When he saw her, he nodded to his valet, who departed with a quick bow to her.

Elizabeth waited until the door closed behind the man, then went to Darcy. He folded her into his arms and she burrowed her face into his waistcoat, breathing him in and rejoicing in the fact of his physical presence.

"Elizabeth," he sighed into her hair. "Thank God I found you."

She closed her eyes. "Thank you for coming for me."

"I looked for you." He let go of her so he could see her face. "We searched all of Bristol for any trace of you. Then we backed up and searched all of the coaching inns you had stopped at, to make sure we had not made an error. We also checked the ships' manifests for any signs of women travelling alone or with a baby."

Elizabeth smiled faintly. "Did you find any?"

"About a dozen likely groupings. I wrote to all of the embassies to trace them, to see if they could confirm their identity. Some were quickly ruled out, but others have been harder to locate, and I have yet to hear back about a quarter of them. If that did not work, we were going to widen the search, to women who travelled steerage. And then Colonel Fitzwilliam raised the possibility that you might have dressed as a man to pass yourself off as a family emigrating and that could have been anyone … "

At the tone of remembered despair crept into his voice, she drew him to the bed to sit down.

"I am here now." She touched his face lightly, embarrassed at the unladylike roughness of her hands, then more confidently as he leant into her touch, tracing her fingertips over the fine angles and contours of his cheek. "I am so sorry, I did not know that you wanted me. I thought you had done with me when you left with no further word. I thought about contacting you so many times, or passing by your house in hopes of running into you, but was too proud to do it if you would not. And then when I heard you had left Town, I told myself I was foolish to hope, that I must give you up."

He squeezed her hand hard. "Those first few weeks were torture. When I thought you did not love me, that you had only used me, I could not - I could not bear it. I could not stay in Town, knowing you were so close, but did not love me."

She flattened her hand to gently cup his face and shook her head. "I did love you. I have loved you for a long time, long ever I told you I did."

He closed his eyes and held her hand against his cheek and she saw the deep rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he opened his eyes and looked earnestly into hers. "Elizabeth, I must ask you. Why did you not tell me about your sister? Not after we parted, but before. I would have helped you, protected you. Why did you not trust me?"

She felt her face flush and withdrew her hand. "I did trust you."

"Then why did you not tell me? If you trusted me, you would have told me."

"I was - " She plucked at her skirt, not answering his scrutinizing gaze. Finally, she raised her eyes to his and spoke frankly. "You are right, I did not trust you. What if you attempted to stop me, or her? What if you told Sir Henry?"

"You thought I would do that?" His tone was incredulous.

"Not because you wanted to hurt us. But perhaps if you thought it was the wrong decision, you might try to persuade Jane to stay and make the best of it. When I told you about my mother and Mr. Sandys, you said he had a right to beat her."

"I - no, I did not say that. I said the law grants him that right, but that he was wrong to use it. And that is what I believe, Elizabeth. Your stepfather treated your mother most cruelly and barbarically."

Elizabeth shook her head. "It is almost the same, if you dislike the law, but still accept that it is the law."

"It is not the same at all. One is an acceptance of fact, the other is a position taken on that fact."

"Would you have helped me break the law?"

"To save your sister? Yes."

"If Samuel had not have been involved?"

"I - what do you mean?"

"Mr. Darcy, do not think that I do not appreciate what you and Lord John did, challenging Sir Henry. But that was not done for my sister, that was done for Samuel, because he is a male child and the heir, and is important to the Blemmell family line."

"It was done for both your sister and Samuel."

Elizabeth shook her head again. "It was done for Samuel. Lord John's lawsuit, the anger of the people, the riots - that was because Sir Henry endangered Samuel, not because he endangered Jane. He endangered Jane for a long time and nobody had done anything but tell her it was a fact she must accept as his wife."

"A good man would not tell her she must accept such treatment. A good man would have protected and defended her. It is only that you have had the misfortune of knowing few good men. Mr. Sandys, Sir Henry - they are not good men."

"You and Jane believe that Lord John is a good man, but even he wanted Jane to remain with Sir Henry so she could bear him a legitimate son," Elizabeth said quietly. "And my Uncle Gardiner is a good man. He has impoverished himself - comparatively - to help my mother and my sister, Lydia. But he thought there was nothing that could be done for Jane. He said Sir Henry was too powerful and fighting him would only make it worse for her."

"I am not your Uncle Gardiner and I would not have been afraid of fighting Sir Henry."

"By resorting to law?"

"By any means necessary, even if it meant confronting him myself."

She knew he meant a duel. "And if you lost, what then?"

"I would not have lost."

"If you killed him and won, then. Do you think you would have escaped prosecution and hanging, given who Sir Henry was? Given his family?"

"Roy did."

"He was prosecuted, but acquitted because the jury was sympathetic to his cause, because they were already outraged over what Sir Henry did to Samuel."

"They would have been sympathetic to Lady Blemmell's cause, even without Samuel." But she heard the hesitation in his voice and knew that, like her, he could not be confident that a jury would deem it justified for one man to interfere with another man's government of his wife.

"Even if you would take the risk for yourself, are you so certain you wished to risk Pemberley?"

"If that was what was required."

"Your family?" she pressed him. "Your sister? All for _my_ sister?"

"All for you," he said hoarsely. "I would have done anything for you, Elizabeth, if you had only asked it of me."

She felt her throat constrict and blinked against the sudden surge of wetness in her eyes. She reached for him, cupping his face in her hands tenderly.

"I know," she said, her eyes full of tears. "I know now you would have. But I would not have wanted you to. How could I have lived with myself, knowing that I had injured you so grievously?"

"There was no injury greater than for you to disappear without one word, without a trace, while I wondered if you were in pain, if you were suffering, and could do nothing. When I did not even know if you were alive or dead." He said, his voice full of pain and passion. "Elizabeth, imagine if it had been you."

Her tears overflowed. "I am sorry, I did not know. I thought you had forgotten me and were determined to be happy with Lady Sophia. I was jealous and angry and so I determined to be selfish and think only of myself."

At her words, the reproach died from his face. "You were not selfish, Elizabeth," he said humbly. " _I_ was selfish, to force you to be my mistress when you only wished to help your sister. I thought only of my desires and did not think of you. I should not have put you in such a position."

She smiled at him through her tears. "Hush. You did not force me, I offered. And I did not do it for my sister only, I did it for myself, because I wanted my freedom and I did not want to give it up to help my sister. And," her hands dropped to his chest and she gave him a mischievous look through her lashes, "It was not _all_ bad. Perhaps we should think less of the parts that bring us pain and more on the moments that brought pleasure."

His face lit up, and he put his hands around her waist and drew her closer. "Really?" he murmured. "Which moments were those?"

She laughed softly, dashing away her tears, but did not resist the pull of his hands. " _You_ know. Some moments that a lady cannot describe to a gentleman and remain a lady!"

His smile deepened at the corners. "Mm. Perhaps a lady could _show_ them instead?"

His mouth hovered over hers, his breath warm on her lips. She smiled, then leant forward, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.

"Is that good enough?" she teased when their lips parted.

"It was very _good_ ," he smiled. "But enough? I am afraid I cannot accede to that."

Laughing, she leant toward him again, wrapping her arms around his neck. This time he met her halfway and they kissed for longer, tongues entwined and bodies pressed together.

"Are you satisfied now?" she asked a few moments later.

"I confess I am not," he said, a little breathlessly. His hands had drifted up her body and she felt him squeeze lightly, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. "Not at all."

"What will satisfy you, then?"

"Only … to see you. May I?"

She watched as his thumbs stroked across the worn fabric of her gown. Between her legs, she felt something tighten.

"Yes," she whispered, raising her gaze to meet his eyes.

The ribbon securing her gown was knotted in the front. Holding her eyes, he tugged it gently until it came free. She helped him undo the fastenings of her stays, then he was sliding her clothing slowly down, off her shoulders, until she was naked almost to the waist and shivering a little in the cool air. His eyes dropped from hers then, and she heard his breath shorten.

She could stop them now, she thought. She could repair her gown and bid Darcy good night and return to Jane and pretend to be a proper young woman. But that time had long passed, gone the night she insisted he take her virginity; nay, long before that when she had made her immodest proposal. Now there was only her and him and the air electric between them as the candlelight flickered in the quiet darkness. So she said nothing, only waited as his dark gaze drank in the creamy whiteness of her skin, and after a moment she saw him reach out to touch her, felt the fullness of her breasts press into the warmth of his hands and his thumbs pass lightly over the velvety tips.

"So soft," he breathed. "Elizabeth, you have the softest skin in the world."

She made no protest when he pushed her gown down further until he could help her wriggle out of it. Her own hands flew over his clothing, removing his coat, his cravat, his waistcoat, and pulling out the tuck of his shirtsleeves so she could touch warm, bare skin underneath. But before she could proceed further with undressing him, he was kissing her again and pushing her down on the bed. She went, unresisting, the pillows cushioning her as she fell.

"Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes, my love?" He spoke low, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his mouth and hands intent on her body.

"Nothing," she sighed, threading her fingers through his thick, silky hair and arching her back to push herself against his mouth.

After a while, he returned to her lips. She parted her legs and felt him fit himself between them, his arousal hard and insistent. She pulled on his hair, demanding more kisses, more of him, and he obliged, showering her face and neck and bosom with kisses. They continued like that for a while, until the tightness between her legs had become an ache and she could feel his erection straining against it through the soft doeskin of his breeches.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she moaned as his fingers probed the wetness between her legs. She kissed him frantically to keep from crying out as she writhed her hips under his hand. "Oh, Fitzwilliam, please."

"Oh God," he said against her mouth. "Elizabeth, I did not mean to dishonour you. I can wait. I can wait. I can wait." But his kisses were desperate and his hips jerked against hers.

"There is no need to wait," she gasped. "I am yours now."

The sound he made against her neck was half growl, half sob. He shifted his weight and she felt his hand brush against her as he quickly undid the fall of his breeches. For a moment, he sprang free. Then, with a swift thrust, he buried himself in her.

She gasped at the shock of it, rising on her elbows. On top of her, she felt Darcy shudder so hard she thought he might finish. But instead, after a moment, he began moving, slowly, and Elizabeth thought she had never known true pleasure before as she knew in that moment.

He was cradling her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes as he moved on top of her. For a while, she gripped his wrists and gazed back at him, their warm breaths and lips mingling. But the sensations deep inside of her were rippling outward, and if she was looking at him, she could no longer see him, so lost was she in the waves of ecstasy that were engulfing her to the fingertips. Nor did they recede, but only continued, bearing her higher and higher until she was dizzy with the joy of it. It was only when she could take no more, when she thought she must go mad or fly to pieces that she heard him cry out and give one great shudder and then another, and then he was still.

Gradually, she came back to herself. The panting sound was her own breath; the pounding her heart ringing in her ears. Darcy was collapsed on top of her, his head buried in her neck and his warm weight pinning her down. They were still in her rough bed in the old gamekeeper's cottage and disgracefully situated, she naked in her stockings and he in shirtsleeves with his trousers halfway down his buttocks. She could not help it; she laughed.

"Elizabeth?" he said in a daze, raising his head and removing himself from her.

"How ridiculous and terrible we must look," she said.

She saw his glance take them in and then he smiled and swept the damp and tangled curls from her face. "Not at all. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life."

She felt her eyes moisten at the tenderness in his voice. But she smiled. "That is because you are a foolish man."

"Yes, foolish about you." He rolled to his side and cast his shirtsleeves off, then drew her to him, cradling her against his bare chest. "Foolish and crazy about you. Elizabeth … let us marry immediately. Come back with me to Pemberley."

Already she was drifting off in the glorious warmth and security of his arms. But at his words, her eyes flew open.

"Are you certain that is what you want?"

"Of course it is what I want. What do you mean?"

She spoke slowly. "We do not have to marry. Mr. Darcy" - she hesitated and bit her lip - "I would be your mistress if you wish."

"My mistress? I do not want you to be my mistress. I thought we settled this. You said yes." He was upset.

"I did. And I would be pleased to marry you, but you must consider your position and your sister. I do not wish to injure you or your family, and I do not _need_ to be your wife. I know you will look after me and our child even without it."

"It would give you greater security and standing. You would be mistress of Pemberley. Nobody could ever touch or harm you again."

"I do not need those things. You have protected me without them. I do not need the security."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "But _I_ need it, Elizabeth. I need our union to be right in the eyes of God and society. I need to know that you will bind yourself to me, not for a season or two, but for a lifetime. I want our children to be mine, and know they are mine, not bastards who look for their father in every man you meet."

She caressed his neck, revelling in his beauty and finely molded form and the knowledge he was hers. "They will know you are their father, always. I promise you; I will make certain of that."

"Even so, you can never give them the name that I can give them. You can never give them their rightful place in society."

She knew he spoke the truth, but still she felt compelled to warn him. "You will pay a great price. You will be shunned by society and your family."

"You do not know my family. I doubt it will come to that, but if it does" - he forestalled her protest - "if it does, I am not afraid."

"You will have to give up your political aspirations. Men will mock you for your choice of wife."

"It does not matter; there are many ways of doing good in this world. And men will not mock me when they meet you, Elizabeth. If they do, then they are fools who cannot appreciate true superiority of mind when they meet it."

"I cannot contribute to Pemberley, I have little to give to any children we might have and will be a burden on the estate."

"You bring yourself."

"And that is enough?" she said skeptically.

"It has always been enough. It is more than enough, it is all I ever wanted." He gazed deeply into her eyes. "Elizabeth, all of those things you mention - they are important to me, but they are empty without you. Even Pemberley - what will it be but a fine, empty house like so many others if I cannot fill it with my wife and children?"

"There are other women, beautiful women, wealthier and with greater connexions than I -"

"I do not want another woman, I want you. I do not want to force you, Elizabeth, but you have the power to grant or withhold my heart's desire so I will ask you again, for the third time. Will you marry me?"

She smiled. Why was she even making him ask?

"Yes," she said, cuddling into him happily. "Yes, if you truly want me, then of course I will."

* * *

© 2017-18 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


	21. Chapter 21 - Good-byes

**CHAPTER 21 - GOOD-BYES**

The next few days were a flurry of letters and arrangements. Darcy wrote to Pemberley and issued a long list of instructions to his secretary, Ogden, who had travelled with him to Somersetshire. Jane wrote to Lord John, who responded immediately. And Elizabeth spoke to Jane about her plans.

"You are certain, Jane?"

"Yes, Lizzy. I am grateful to you and Mr. Darcy for your invitation, but Lord John and Lady Clementina are desperate to see Samuel. They have also asked me to make my home with them for the long term." Elizabeth knew that along with his townhouse and other properties, Lord John had a great country house in Essex, which formed his seat.

"And that is what you want?"

"Yes. Lord John said his home was so much more comfortable when I was there to see to the servants, and when Samuel was there to bring cheerfulness to the house. I can look after him and Lady Clementina, Lizzy. They are both of them elderly and in delicate health."

"It seems a pity, Jane, that you must go from serving Sir Henry to nursing his aunt and uncle. You are an independent, wealthy woman now. When will you be able to please yourself?"

"It would please me to be of service to two people who have been so kind to me, Lizzy. Do not worry for me."

Elizabeth sighed, but acquiesced. She knew there was no persuading Jane. It seemed to her that her sister had grown in confidence every day since coming to Somersetshire, and the news of Sir Henry's death had increased that. Jane would be firm where she believed herself to be right, even if Elizabeth did not understand her. Thinking of Sir Henry, she thought perhaps she had never understood her.

"But Lizzy," Jane broke in, "I would like to be with you for your confinement. If you will have me?"

Elizabeth hugged her with relief. "Oh, Jane! I did not want to ask, but I would like nothing more. Thank goodness you will be with me; I did not want to be alone."

"I do not think you could feel alone with Mr. Darcy in constant attendance," Jane teased her gently. She had noticed Darcy's devoted solicitousness of her sister.

"No, perhaps not," Elizabeth blushed and smiled. "How did I ever find him, Jane? I do not deserve him."

"I think you do," Jane smiled, then added more seriously, "He loves you very much, more than I thought it possible for any man to love a woman. I had not realized, Lizzy. I see now why you were unable to love Mr. Warford. I am sorry I ever suggested it to you."

"You could not have known."

"And yet I do pity Mr. Warford, Lizzy. I think his feelings were real, and why should they not be, considering the object?" Jane smiled sadly at her sister. "I hope he was not too disappointed. I wonder where he is now and whether either of us shall see him again."

As it happened, Jane's question received an answer the day after. Elizabeth was in the village to speak to Hannah's parents, to make arrangements for her to travel with Jane and Samuel, with whom she had been offered a permanent place. Hannah's parents had leapt on this opportunity for their daughter. Jacob had also been offered a place in the gardens or stables, with an opportunity to advance, but he had confessed himself most desirous of remaining by the sea, and entertained hopes of a career on it.

She was just coming out of their fishing hut when she looked up to see a familiar figure striding down the shingle toward her.

"Mr. Warford!" she coloured, remembering that she had not yet replied to his question.

"Mrs. Smith," he bowed, looking grave. "They tell me that you will be leaving us."

"Yes, very soon I believe. We are only waiting for some arrangements to be confirmed."

He nodded and fell into step with her.

"I am sorry -" said Elizabeth.

"There is no need to -" he started.

They both stopped at once. "Please," she said.

"I was only going to say that there is no need for you to explain. I understood your answer when you did not write." He had left her a note asking her to write him if she could give him a positive answer, and enclosing a list of places where a letter would reach him. He said, hesitatingly, "I hope that your decision was not precipitated by my offer. I am not so mean as to hold such a thing against any one, much less a lady. Nor would I press a suit that is unwelcome."

She shook her head vigorously. "It was nothing like that. The truth is … the gentleman we spoke of has returned for me and we are to be married."

For a moment, his face was wiped clean of expression. Then: "You wrote to him?"

"We had suffered a misunderstanding. So yes, I wrote to him and he came."

Mr. Warford bowed again and said, "I wish him congratulations and you every health and happiness."

Before she could say anything in reply, he abruptly turned on his heel and began walking away, his old coat swirling in the wind. For a moment, Elizabeth stared at his retreating back. Then she went after him with quick steps.

"Mr. Warford," she called. "Mr. Warford!"

He turned politely, but crossed his arms and would not meet her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"Mr. Warford, I know you do not wish to hear my apology, but I am a selfish, unfeeling creature and therefore will make it just the same. I am sorry if I led you astray or allowed you to think I was free to give my heart. I have no excuse except to say that I was confused - confused as to my own feelings and labouring under many mistaken apprehensions. But please believe I did not _intend_ to engender any feelings that would cause you pain or distress now. If I gave you a sense of my high regard, it is because it is true, I do hold you in very high regard, the very highest - as a friend."

He looked at her then and shook his head. "You did not lead me astray; I hoped only. In vain, it seems, for how can a man compete with one who is blessed with all of the favours of the world?"

"It was not for worldly reasons that I accepted him," she said, insulted.

"Forgive me," he said, turning away again.

"If you will forgive me in return," she called.

She saw him pause and turn back to her. But he still looked hesitant.

She smiled and held out her hand. "Let us not quarrel, sir, for I think we both know the truth. You are a vast deal too good for me, and I expect that you will discover this as soon as you meet a woman who is more worthy of your talents and character - if not a good deal sooner."

He could not help but smile a little at that, though he did not take her hand. "I wish I had your optimism."

"Oh! Optimism costs nothing. If you will it, it is yours. But I do not think any great feat of optimism is required in your case. There are lovely _and_ good girls a-plenty in this world, and they have but to meet you to recognize your worth. I shall pray for it, if you will allow me."

She was being a little mischievous, but it drew another smile from him, less pained this time, and this time he took her hand.

"I hope you will be very happy."

"I will be happier if I have your friendship."

"You have never lost it."

"Thank you."

"But I must ask you. Are you certain this is what you truly want? Are you certain you wish to marry a man who exposed you to such dishonour? He is rich to be sure, but will he make you happy? 'A man's life consisteth not in the abundance of things which he possesseth.'"

She sobered. "I must tell you that you are mistaken in the character of the man of whom you speak. Discretion forbids me from saying more, but I assure you that in this case, though we were both at fault, it is far more mine than his. He wished to treat me with honour from the first."

He looked skeptical and Elizabeth, not wishing to delve further on the subject, said, "I am glad to see you, sir, for it enables me to perform a task that my sister particularly charged me with."

"Oh?"

"The cottage. We have discussed it and neither of us wish to throw your congregants out in the cold. If our landlord does not mind, we would be pleased if you continued to use it for your meetings and perhaps a Sunday school. And my ladies from the village can continue to provide the upkeep. I can make arrangements with them today."

"Is this so?" he said, brightening in earnest. "I cannot speak for your landlord, but I envision no difficulty. He is aware of the meetings now."

"Yes, indeed. And when you intend to establish a true chapel in these parts, we would be honoured if you would think of us. We would like to do everything within our power to assist you."

He beamed at her. "I think you know this has long been a dream and object of mine."

"Then please, make your plans and write us when you are ready."

He thanked her warmly and they parted in friendship, Mr. Warford promising to call on her and Jane before he left.

* * *

"Did you really consider marrying him?" Darcy asked jealously.

It was a fine, clear afternoon - the first after days of drizzle - and they were sitting on her thinking rock, looking out to sea. It was to be their last full day in Somersetshire. Tomorrow morning Lord John's men, currently lodged in a nearby town, were to come for Jane and Samuel. Darcy and Elizabeth would depart in his carriage soon afterward.

A few days before their intended departure, Mr. Warford had called and stayed for tea. With some trepidation, Elizabeth had introduced him to Darcy and was relieved when the two men were polite, albeit a touch reserved with the other. But Darcy had thanked Mr. Warford for his efforts on Elizabeth's and Jane's behalf, and Mr. Warford had congratulated Darcy and Elizabeth on their betrothal. By the end of the visit, they were even debating the relative merits of makeshift Sunday schools and properly established grammar schools to advance the literacy of the labouring class.

It seemed that Darcy had not heard of Mr. Warford's role as a suitor. But that changed in the days subsequent - due to servants' gossip or village rumour, Elizabeth did not know. That morning, he had been withdrawn, and when they had set out on their by now daily walk, he taxed her with his information as soon as they had cleared the low stone wall surrounding the cottage. Eventually, she owned the truth of it. Then had come his question.

"I only considered it briefly," she replied defensively.

"You considered being _his_ wife, and giving him _my_ child to raise."

"Only because I thought you did not want me - or us."

"You did not give me a chance to tell you what I wanted."

"Indeed, I did. I wrote to you. That is why you are here."

"Before you wrote to me, I mean. He visited you for months while I was desperate, searching for you."

"I did not know that. How was I to know that? You had ceased communicating with me."

He was silent for a moment, then turned his gaze out to sea. The light wind ruffled his hair and raised small whitecaps in the water. He crossed his arms across his chest. "If you were considering marrying anybody, it should have been me."

"You did not ask me."

He was indignant at this. "I asked you from the first."

"But never again - not until just now."

"You should have known that my offer stood. I had not rescinded it."

"Being your mistress rescinded it. How could I be expected to know that you were still willing to marry me after I became your mistress?"

"What basis had you to conclude that I would not be willing?"

To that she had no answer, and he looked triumphant. Then she shrugged. "It does not matter. You ended our relationship. And _left._ "

"To forestall you from doing the same thing. And I came back."

"After two weeks! I waited for you!"

"I sought you for three months!"

For a moment, they glared at each other. Then Elizabeth dimpled. "Are we really to quarrel over such a thing, sir? So soon after finally finding our way to each other? If I recall, we both had reason to be jealous and parties to be jealous of. Let us be quit and begin again."

She reached for him, but he avoided her touch and rose off the rock. He paced to the shore and returned, confronting her. "The situation is not the same. Your jealousy was unfounded and premised on error, mine on fact."

"What fact is this?" said Elizabeth, also sliding off the rock and standing. "That I briefly considered a marriage I had no desire to enter into, for reasons of security and protection?"

"That you like him."

Elizabeth stared at him open-mouthed. He turned back out to sea, then picked up a handful of large pebbles and flung them out to sea. She could tell how angry he was from the sharp, powerful flex of his arm and the impressive arc of the stones.

"I do, I do like him," she admitted. He turned back to her swiftly, his eyes resentful. She added bravely, "but my feelings are nothing to what I feel for you - neither in strength nor kind. I respect him; I esteem him as a friend and a minister; I believed he would be kind to my child because I have seen him be uniformly kind to all children. But I do not love him; not the smallest bit."

His gaze was intense on her face. She approached him, putting her hand on his arm tentatively. She noticed the tension in his body did not ease, but nor did he shake her off.

"It was why I knew I could not marry him in the end. Not only because of you or me, but because it would not have been fair to him. I had told myself it would be a fair trade. I would bring him comparative wealth and be a good and dutiful wife, and he would provide me with a home for my child and help me look after Jane. But I knew it would not do because I could not love him, I could never love him no matter how much time passed - because I love you."

He turned away from her again, arms crossed, but Elizabeth thought from his posture that his anger had abated.

"He is a very handsome man," he said severely.

"You are handsomer. And taller," she offered, then smiled to herself to see his hunched shoulders visibly relax.

"The villagers are constantly chanting his praises for his many good works," he said more mildly.

"Your servants would have me believe that you are the best landlord and master in all of England," she responded cheerfully.

"I understand he is assured of being liked wherever he goes."

"And so would you be if you elected to smile more."

The corners of his mouth quirked involuntarily. He looked sidelong at her, but she did not attempt to touch him again, only stood with her arms crossed behind her back and her eyes brimming with laughter.

At last, he took her hand in his own, removing his glove and peeling off hers. "I am sorry I doubted you," he said, smiling.

"You are forgiven - so long as it never takes place again."

He looked at her quickly and she smiled at him. "A jest only. Of course you may doubt me, and I am happy to give you proofs of my attachment. But I hope in time, you will come to trust the depth of my feelings for you."

He drew her to him. Her body was still slim and unbearably graceful, but he thought of what she carried inside of herself, and that of her own free will she had written to tell him of it, and then agreed to marry him. Proofs of attachment indeed!

"It is still very new to believe that you love me," he admitted, thrilling at the ease with which she nestled against him.

"I do," she said, smiling and brushing back the hair that had fallen on his forehead. "You must never doubt that."

They stood for a while like that, listening to the rough play of the surf along the marled shore. In the distance the sun, a flaming golden disc against the misty clouds, slipped slowly below the horizon.

"There is something else I wish to discuss," Darcy said, breaking their reverie.

"Mm? What is that?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him.

He drew on her hand and they resumed walking along the shore.

"Because of the scandal with Colonel Fitzwilliam, I fear that the newspaper interest into Lord Fitzwilliam's connexions will be acute - and much of it will be directed at you."

She straightened defiantly. "I am not afraid."

"Regardless, I would not have you suffer any insults and abominations. Especially now, when you are in a delicate condition and require peace and rest."

"On this matter, I am resigned. What cannot be helped, must be endured," she said philosophically, then added with a smile, "I trust my health is not so fragile that it will fall into ruin when confronted with a few unpleasant paragraphs with my morning coffee."

"No doubt. And yet - I would spare you this trial if I can. I have been thinking and I have come up with a plan."

She was eager to hear his plan so he explained. She would come to Pemberley, but take up residence as the tenant of the Dower House half a mile away. They would say she was the well-off widow of a distant family connection, whose husband had died of fever while on business in in India, leaving her with child. After a time, it would be observed that the master of Pemberley was forming a _tendre_ for his genteel tenant and he would marry her and declare her child, if it was male, his heir. The ruse would be at the beginning only; after that, gossip and conjecture would do the rest.

"Will it be a problem if people believed you declared another man's son your heir?" She wrinkled her brow delicately.

"I see no issue. Pemberley is not entailed, and I am free to dispose of it how I wish. If we had not married but you had remained my mistress for the long term, it would have been my intention to leave it to our son, were we to have one and if he was willing to adopt the Darcy name."

"Oh!" Her cheeks pinked and she smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

"It is a little unusual for an estate of this size and duration not to be entailed," he acknowledged. "My father and I had barred the entail for Georgiana's sake when I came of age, but we did not want to resettle it with no immediate prospect of a male heir, and when my father fell ill, the matter was not much thought of and my father trusted me to do what was right. But what do you think of my scheme?"

"You have a clergyman willing to perform this office?"

"I do. My old tutor, Dr. Miles, is the chaplain at Pemberley and the vicar of the village. I have written to him to explain my intentions and he has declared himself willing."

"Will your servants keep the secret?"

"I think so. As you can see, I travel with the ones who have always attended me, and they have so far. And we will have Mrs. Wortley and Dorothy for you. I settled them in Derbyshire."

"And your family? They know of me, do they not? Or at least, that you had a mistress? Will they not guess the truth of the situation?"

"Likely, but I see no reason why they would not accept the secret. Once we are irrevocably married, it will be in their interest to avoid scandal."

She frowned, considering, but Darcy could see no great risk. In law, it would be absolutely correct and irrefutable that they were married almost immediately upon their arrival at Pemberley, and the Parish record would show this. But the ruse would enable Elizabeth to move in society as a respectable woman and become acquainted with the villagers, his tenants and his neighbours with no cloud over her.

Elizabeth's thoughts tended in a different direction. A marriage to a reasonably portioned young widow, while unsatisfying to family ambition, was not disgraceful. At worst, it would have a minor impact on his standing and political prospects. At best, he would be shrugged off and perhaps even lauded as another victim of the romantic sensibility of the age.

"It seems to be a fine scheme," she pronounced at last, then added with some humour, "I confess, I have learnt to take a certain enjoyment in being _incognita_. But shall I play the grieving widow overburdened by pain and heartache until she finds solace in the arms of another man, or shall I be a merry widow, looking out for my next victim?"

"I care not what you play, so long as you remember that you are in reality my wife."

"Indeed, that is going about it utterly backward!" she laughed. "If I do not forget I am your wife, I will be kissing and caressing you in the churchyard, and then what will become of my reputation?"

He answered her with a kiss that made her forget her original question. It did, however, raise another.

"I believe I have discovered the fly in the proverbial ointment," she sighed in his arms. "How are we to see each other in private? You say the Dower House is situated near to the village. Surely the frequency and lateness of your visits will be noticed. Or did you intend to stay away from me until we are married officially?"

Darcy smiled smugly. "I have a solution to that problem, but I am afraid I am unable to divulge it until we are married."

"Until we are married! Why should that make a difference?"

"It is a secret the master of Pemberley can only share with his wife, his heir and one other person, and only with the consent of the others."

"A secret!" she exclaimed. "Please tell me. We will be married immediately; a few days can make no difference."

"A few days can make a great difference. Already you have questioned whether we ought to be married. I think you must wait."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, how cruel. I demand you tell me immediately."

"You sound just like Lady Catherine," he said heartlessly.

"And I shall become just like Lady Catherine as soon as we are married if you do not tell me," she scolded. "I have never heard of such a proceeding, to dangle a secret in front of your betrothed and then bottle up like Admiral Nelson surrounding the French fleet."

"You must promise to be my wife."

"I have already promised to be your wife!"

"You must never question my offer again, nor harbour any doubts within yourself."

"I will not. I mean, I will. And they were not my own doubts in any case, I only wished to ensure you knew your mind. Please tell me," she wheedled. "I will bribe the bishop for a special licence to marry you today if you deem it necessary - only then our marriage will be publicly known and there will be no more need for your plan. So you see, you may as well tell me."

"I am afraid I do not follow your logic," he said quizzically. "But" - he added when she took a deep breath to launch into further pleas and cajoling - "I will tell you."

He made her swear to secrecy, then, when he was satisfied and she looked ready to burst, said, "There is a secret passage between Pemberley and the Dower House."

"Oh!" she breathed with delight. "Truly? A secret passage?"

"Yes. It dates to medieval times, or perhaps even Roman times, running under the house and connecting to the river and the Dower House. There used to be a friary and a large Catholic population in those parts, and the story is that my ancestor Lord D'Arcy used Pemberley House to harbour Jesuits for years before he was discovered and the Virgin Queen took his head and title for it. But the passage was never found and is known only to family. I do not know what the original entrances looked like, but the current ones are believed to have been fashioned by Nicholas Owen himself, who also installed a number of priest holes at Pemberley."

"Your sister knows?"

"She knows of two of the priest holes, but there are five in all. She knows nothing of the passages. I stumbled across some of the priest holes in my youth and shared them with Georgiana before my father learnt and explained the pledge of secrecy. I had intended to show her all when she came of age if I had no other heir. With your permission, I will still do so."

"Of course. But how big are the passages? How far do they run? Where are their entrances and exits?"

He explained that the passage to the river was the bigger one, likely once used as a convenient arrival or departure point and for the movement of goods. The other fork went to the Dower House, which was located on the site of the old village, from whence a traveller by road could easily come and go. There were three entrances within Pemberley House, one in the adjoining chapel and a number of nodes within the park. The library entrance was from a door hidden behind the rough panels of the priest hole concealed behind a bookshelf; in his dressing room, the entrance was from a false door at the back of a wardrobe; and the bottom of one of the staircases could be lifted to reveal further stairs leading underground. In the chapel a painted panel could be slid away to reveal a small priest hole with a trapdoor.

"And the Dower House?"

"Into the conservatory. Also, there is an entry point into one of the guest bedchambers - on the same principle, through the wardrobe."

"Into a _guest_ bedchamber? That is curious. I pity the guest. What was the purpose of that, I wonder? Did you have an ancestor who was a kindred spirit of the Borgias?"

"Ah, no," he said with a heightened complexion. "At least not to my knowledge. The Dower House was originally built as a guest house, and the master of Pemberley at the time was known as something of a rake. It is believed he may have used it for assignations."

She laughed heartily at him for this, then quizzed him some more about Pemberley's hidden chambers. He promised to show her them all and explain the secrets to their unlocking. They talked until the sun went down and it was time to return to the cottage.

* * *

The next morning they woke early and, shivering in the chill morning air, readied themselves for their journey. Lady Clementina had thoughtfully sent Jane, Elizabeth and Samuel more suitable clothing than they brought with them or had been able to contrive, and by the time Lord John's and Darcy's carriages had arrived from the inns at which they had been lodged, they were warm outside under sumptuous layers of wool and velvet.

"Oh, Jane, how beautiful you are," said Elizabeth, a lump in her throat. Jane wore a fur-lined blue pelisse with a tasselled cap, and the richness of her outfit declared her as belonging to the large, stately carriage and its elaborately liveried, stiff-backed attendants, and no longer to the rough stone cottage and windswept, rocky hills.

"I would say the same about you, Lizzy. You know not how well that suits you," Jane commented on the crimson velvet spencer trimmed with military braid and matching cap that Elizabeth had accepted as a present from Lady Clementina.

She held out her arms and the sisters embraced tearfully. Then Elizabeth took Samuel from Hannah for one last kiss and passed him back to Jane. Lord John's secretary, who was providing escort, held the carriage door open for the women. Then they were in and the door was closed. But Jane poked her head out the window.

"Write to me frequently, Lizzy. I will depend on you to tell me everything about yourself."

"I will," Elizabeth pledged. "And you too, Jane. When next I see you and Samuel, I want to feel as if I have been with him for every step."

Jane nodded, dabbing her face with a handkerchief. Then the outriders moved off slowly and the carriage followed. Elizabeth watched until she could no longer see Samuel's face howling for her in the window, until the graceful gloved hand waving the handkerchief shrank to nothing in the distance. Then she turned to where Darcy stood waiting alongside his own equipage, a modern and more streamlined affair, flanked by more soberly dressed coachmen and grooms. He held out his hand.

"Ready?"

She took a deep breath and smiled. "Ready."

He helped her in and made sure she was comfortable among the cushions, then gave the signal for them to head north.

* * *

 **RANDOM HISTORICAL NOTES:**

1\. Only about half of England's major estates were entailed and there are numerous examples of noblemen leaving the bulk of their estates differently from how their title descended, including to illegitimate children. For example, the enormously wealthy 3rd Earl Egremont (1751-1837) left Petworth, the greatest of his estates, to his illegitimate son by his favourite mistress, Elizabeth Ilive, a polymath and scientist who he married in 1801 after a 16-year relationship.

2\. Entail / settlement - An entail could be barred by the current life holder and the heir apparent acting in concert. By the 17th and 18th Century, it became common for father and son to bar the existing entail upon the son attaining the age of majority (21), make provision for widows and other children, then resettle the estate by setting up a new entail. In P&P, Mr. Bennet describes such a plan, which was thwarted by the failure of male issue.

3\. "Bribe the Archbishop" - there were 3 ways to marry in Regency England: 1) publication of banns over 3 weeks in one's parish church, 2) purchasing a common licence for about £1, which required swearing that there were no impediments to the marriage, and marrying in a parish where at least one of the parties was normally resident, and 3) obtaining a special licence from the Archbishop of Canterbury for about £24-25 that enabled one to marry anywhere at any time. The latter was extremely rare.

4\. "The old village" - In the original of many manorial plans, the manor house was placed at the centre or right beside the village housing and public buildings. In the 18th Century, it became the fashion to move the village away from the manor house in order to offer an unimpeded view of and from the manorial lord's seat.

5\. Saint Nicholas Owen (1562-1606) was a Jesuit lay brother and chief builder of priest holes and secret passages used to hide Catholic recusants in Elizabethan England. He worked in the service of Friar Henry Garnet, a Jesuit priest born in Derbyshire who was executed for his alleged participation in the 1605 Gunpowder Plot. Owen was captured and tortured in 1594, but revealed nothing, then arrested a second time in 1606 and tortured to death in the Tower of London, still maintaining his silence. His work has been found in a number of English stately homes, and many more examples are believed to be extant but undiscovered. In 1970, he was canonized by Pope Paul VI and is now considered the patron saint of illusionists and escapologists.

6\. The Virgin Queen is, of course, Elizabeth I, who imprisoned the Catholic Mary, Queen of Scots, at Chatsworth in Derbyshire for 16 years, as a potential rival for her throne. Under Elizabeth's reign Catholicism was outlawed and Catholics persecuted and killed.

7\. I have envisioned Darcy's ancestors as outwardly Protestant and purchasers of lay patronage in the Anglican Church following the Dissolution of the Monasteries, but with a secret strain of Catholic sympathy, and peripheral supporters of the Rising of the North rebellion. This is a tip of the hat to Thomas, 1st Baron Darcy de Darcy, who was executed in 1537 for his role in the Pilgrimage of the Grace, as well as to the 4th Earl Fitzwilliam, who was a lifelong champion of Catholic emancipation.

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 **AUTHOR'S RESPONSE TO COMMENTS**

Hello, everybody! I just wanted to say thank you very much for the reviews, I always love to hear readers' thoughts on my writing, be it good or bad. I am absolutely delighted to read that you enjoy my story, but I also find a lot of food for thought (and future writing) in any comments you have. In fact, that's a big reason why I post online, to get feedback for revisions in case I decide to publish. The second thing is, a lot of people ask questions and I've been feeling bad that I don't have a good way to reply, so I'm going to make an attempt at the bottom of each chapter, starting now. Apologies if I misunderstood any question.

 **Q. Is this the end?**

A. No. I always have definite ideas about the ending and am eager to get there, only to find once I do that I have rushed the story. So there will be a few more chapters to this story. I can't tell you exactly how many, but at least 6 more. D&E are together, but there are still question marks over how she is going to go over with his family, society and at Pemberley, and whether they can build a good life together. Historically speaking, there were lots of imprudent love matches that didn't work out well. Jane Austen notes such things in her books - e.g., Fanny Price's parents in Persuasion, Mr. Weston's first marriage in Emma. Regency England was a time of competing thought about the purpose of marriage, and Austen herself repeatedly makes clear that physical passion is not a sufficient basis for a good marriage.

 **Q. Will Darcy's plan risk the first child's inheritance or cause a conflict between sons if they have more than one?**

A. That's a great question, because there are cases of people going to court to try to prove a child or children were illegitimate in order to inherit. In one terrible case, a man had married his deceased's wife's sister and had children by her, but the next person in line to the estate went to Court and successfully voided the marriage and had all the children declared illegitimate on the basis that the marriage was incestuous (it was a rule of consanguinity that you could not marry your wife's sister).

In this case, the risk is extremely low. 1. He intends to marry Elizabeth before she delivers, so the baby is going to be born with his name, even if the neighbourhood thinks it's not in fact his. 2. If somebody tried to prove otherwise in a court of law, they would run up against the hard truth, which is that the baby is his and born in wedlock, and there's no hint of a previous husband. 3. Nobody would sue or prosecute because there's nothing to be gained by it. Pemberley is not entailed and he can leave it how he likes. He just has to be careful not to introduce an ambiguity in his will (e.g. "To my eldest son, so-and-so" rather than just "To my eldest son"), and a competent lawyer would make sure that happens. 4. He doesn't intend to hide the truth from his children, just the neighbourhood, and only for the short term until E is safely delivered and established as mistress of Pemberley. Then if the secret comes out, he's counting on people not caring that much because in those days, most people accepted that an established marriage whitewashed the scandal of its beginnings (e.g., Lydia Bennet). Essentially, he doesn't have much riding on his plan, he only wants to spare Elizabeth a bit of stress and humiliation that she would otherwise suffer.

*SPOILER ALERT* Darcy's plan doesn't work out quite as he hopes.

 **Q. Will they be able to keep the secret that they are into each other?**

A. Haha, well, I intend to have a bit of fun with that! But it's part of the plan that he's supposed to be falling for her, they just can't do anything scandalous in public before they are "married."

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© 2017-18 by "LucyQ" at Merytondotcom and "LucyQT" at Fanfictiondotnet ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


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